Scars On The Heart
by TheRealAlyshebaFan
Summary: Murdock has a past, much to everyone's surprise, and a job in his home town could wreak havoc on the life of the woman who broke his heart.  Murdock/OC.
1. Scars On The Heart

Disclaimer: I do not own _The A-Team_. I don't even think I could afford to hire them.

* * *

><p>June 2003<p>

Spring had melted into a hard, dry, hot East Texas summer and frankly there was no cool place to go besides the pool at the country club, if you were one of the rich kids, or the creek if you weren't. Adults, who had to work, had neither option except on weekends. Harper Lee had written of ladies taking baths in the middle of the day, and many folks in the little town did the same, or sat in air-conditioned rooms, drinking iced tea. Gardens were watered at the crack of dawn, and lots of watermelons would be eaten before the end of September.

It was all over town that James Murdock had come home for 'an undetermined time', according to his family. Gossip was rampant, but the Army Ranger's parents had been quiet on the subject. There were rumors, of course, that he suffered from some kind of illness, but no details had been forthcoming from his stepmother, and his father had been disappointingly silent as well. He was home to recuperate from something that had happened to him somewhere, and that was all that anybody knew.

Whatever the rumors were, he was still a soldier, and a highly decorated one. No one could sniff at that. He had been seen –at Carla's Café – in his uniform, looking like a walking Christmas tree with what seemed like hundreds of medals and bars all over his chest, and all together as handsome as the devil himself, according to the waitresses. Florence had said he had looked 'kinda tired' and that he was limping. His father had been with him, though, and just like always, Ben Murdock had steered his son away from anybody who might start asking questions.

People in town couldn't help but speculate. The Murdocks were known for being a bit on the quiet side. Even after Eve Paden married Ben and turned his life around, the family remained sort of self-contained. She had presented him with three boys in a row – Alan, David and Matthew, followed by a precious little girl named Victoria – and had also proven, by all accounts, an excellent mother to James. With that big old rambling barn of a house to maintain, plus helping with the day-to-day farming duties, one could suppose she didn't have a lot of time to sit around playing canasta and gossiping with her neighbors. No, Eve _worked_. Socializing was not her thing, though she was friendly enough, and even though her own three boys were outgoing and friendly, easily mingling with the 'rich' kids in town, she and Ben stayed at the farm except for church and whatever shopping was required. James had left home at eighteen and the story leaked out that he was a pilot, possibly with the Army.

The uniform had confirmed that, when he'd come home on leave after about a year somewhere in Asia. He had been tanned and healthy, but still otherwise reserved and rarely visited town. A brief newspaper article noted that James had risen very quickly through the ranks, and after just six years in the service had been promoted to First Lieutenant 'based on his merits as a soldier and pilot'.

Ben never would say where James was at any time, but apparently he was serving his country with honor and courage, like a true Murdock. It was noted, however, that Ben always looked a little troubled whenever anybody asked him about his eldest son. Someone whispered that James might be in the CIA, and when that rumor came to Ben Murdock, his eyes had narrowed and his expression had hardened, but as usual, he had said nothing.

Gossip was, to Ben Murdock, a constant enemy. He never let himself stoop to their level, though, by commenting on anything, even if some of the rumors enraged him. He never told anyone about his frequent visits to different parts of the country – to various hospitals where James was being held and treated for his 'problems'. Whatever was happening, however bad things got for his son, he would go and try to help him. Eve was understanding and never complained, and she frequently went with him to those sad VA hospitals, and was just as grieved at how James often looked and behaved.

The other children were in on the secret, of course, and never spoke of it to anybody in town. Whenever James was allowed to come home, they would form a protective circle around him, always taking note of whatever state he was in and acting accordingly. Even little Victoria was protective of her big brother, though her attitude toward him was more hero-worship than anything else. If anyone said anything unkind about him, however, she wasn't afraid to defend him. She had gotten a suspension at school once for punching a boy in the face, after he'd said her brother was a 'baby-killer'.

He was finally home again – after almost two years. Ben had not informed the local newspaper that James was now a full-fledged Captain, and an Airborne Ranger, having risen higher through the system in spite of his youth. In fact, he had decided that the less anyone knew about his son's return home, the better. He much preferred keeping him at the house and hoping – praying – that James was better and would stay that way.

He seemed better, anyway. Ben sat in the kitchen, drinking a cup of coffee and watching James play with little Victoria, who at nine was as pesky and rambunctious as any little girl ought to be. The young Ranger was patiently teaching the child how to play marbles, and they were both sitting on the floor in the living room.

"That's it – just hit it with your thumb and try to knock the other marbles out of the circle," James told his sister. She squatted down behind a marble, aimed carefully and shot the marble across, clicking against her brothers' marbles. One or two moved a little, and James gave her appropriate praise and further instruction.

The doorbell rang, and Eve got up to answer, glancing back at Ben, who stiffened. James got up, brushing his jean-clad knees and pulling his sister to her feet. "Company, Vicks. Atten_tion_!"

Ben heard voices in the front foyer and went to investigate, and frowned to see Harry Elliott and his two daughters follow Eve into the living room. What the hell were they doing here, he wondered, and went out to greet them. He had nothing against the two girls, but Harry was the most conceited man he had ever met, and had never been able to make himself like him.

"Harry, how're you?" he asked.

"I'm good."

The two Elliott girls – Elizabeth, the elder, and Anne – looked around the house. Elizabeth clearly found the farmhouse less than appealing, but Anne seemed quite comfortable and after exchanging pleasantries with everyone, she asked Victoria what she was doing.

"James is teachin' me how to play marbles!" she answered excitedly. "And later he's gonna show me all the places he's been lately. He was just in…Cambro…Camob…"

"Cambodia," James nodded, smirking.

"Right."

Anne glanced at James, smiling in her usual quiet, calm way and he only looked away, toward the hallway. His younger brother Alan came clattering down the stairs, and grinned when he saw the two girls. He and Anne had been on a few dates so far, and from what Ben could tell, things were going well enough. He wasn't sure he would be too delighted if Alan ended up marrying Harry's daughter – imagine, such an in-law – but he would accept it if it made the boy happy. But Alan and Anne were both just fifteen, and had years ahead of them to worry about that kind of thing. Right now, their dates were restricted – _firmly_ – to going to movies with other kids their age and hanging out at Carl's, which were apparently the two most exciting things to do in Courtville, Texas.

"What is Cambodia like?" Elizabeth asked James, looking intrigued. She was eighteen, with a very emphatic figure, which gave Ben cause for concern, because she had always seemed to like James, and he knew his son appreciated a fine figure on a girl. Only problem was that she was an _Elliott_.

"Er…hot, when I was there, ma'am."

Ben couldn't keep from smiling. His son had always referred to any female over the age of thirteen as 'ma'am'. The Army couldn't take credit for his superb manners, though: Eve had drilled them into him from the day she had married Ben, and they had stuck with him.

"Did you go to Angkor Wat?" she asked, her smile widening as she observed him with growing interest.

"Yes, ma'am." He didn't look directly at her. "Just a…uh…passing visit. Very brief."

"Kill anybody?" Harry asked, which made the Murdocks in the room shoot him a sharp look. Even Victoria looked appalled.

"Not there, sir," James answered, deadpan. "That wasn't on the itinerary for Angkor Wat. Ask me about Kuala Lampur some time, though."

Ben felt he ought to take some credit for James's acerbic wit. Eve had taught him manners, while Ben had taught him to defend himself with his mind as well as his fists.

"Uh…well, anyway…" Harry recognized the sarcasm but made no comment, aware that the odd pilot had put him in his place. "I'm just here to pick up Alan – we're taking the kids to the movie this evening."

"Right."

Eve, knowing that Ben didn't like Harry much, stepped forward, drawing Harry's attention – just like always. "Well, then, all of you kids…scat!" Everyone laughed, the tension broken at last.

Alan and Anne left, heading out into the blinding East Texas heat, and left everyone else standing in the living room, all feeling varying degrees of unease. Finally, Harry cleared his throat. "Well, we'll be going. I'll have them back at nine o'clock sharp." He held out his hand to Ben, who shook it firmly. James only gave Harry a rather cool look before he turned back to Victoria, who was watching everyone, trying to figure out the dynamics of the entire exchange. "Back to our marbles, wee lassie," he said, in a perfect Highland Scots accent. Elizabeth and her father left, escorted to the door by a gracious Eve, who returned to the kitchen a few moments later.

"I suppose we could put a sign in the front yard that says 'Elliotts not welcome'," she said as she sat down opposite her husband.

"I doubt Harry even likes Harry that much," Ben answered. He glanced into the living room, where James was lying on his stomach on the floor, propped up on his elbows, across from Victoria, who was sitting weaver-style, studying the position her marbles as if she were a general planning a battle. "How has he been today?" he asked her.

"Quiet. He seems tired." Eve touched his hand. "Ben, you need to stop worrying so much."

"They'll send him back to some corner of hell and when he comes out messed up, they'll tape him back together and just throw him back into one of those _places_ again. I can't stand it, Eve. I can't bear it…" Ben ran a hand through his hair, which had gone white over just the past seven years. "I hate this. They won't tell me anything. Just 'he needs the treatments and the therapy', as if either helps him. I wish somebody could just _help him_."

"Shh…" Eve said softly. "You can't fix him, honey, any more than they can. If he wants fixing, he has to do it himself. Besides which, I think there's other things on his mind right now, besides the Army." She leaned forward and lowered his voice, sounding both mildly concerned and amused. "I think he's…well, I think he's got a girl on his mind."

"A girl? What girl?" Ben looked around.

"I don't know. I just get a feeling he's…formed some kind of…_attachment_ to a girl."

"Elizabeth Elliott, with our luck," Ben said grumpily.

"So? She's a nice girl."

Ben shrugged. "I'm not sure if 'nice' is quite the right word."

Eve made a noise that only a woman could make to indicate her amusement with him and stood up to get the pot and refill his coffee cup. "Ah, well…he's only here every now and again, so it's not like he'll have much time to cut her out of the herd…if in fact she's a local."

"There's interesting terminology, if it is Elizabeth."

She rolled her eyes as she poured steaming coffee into his cup. "And besides which, Ben, I doubt it's Elizabeth. If it were, I think he would have been less uneasy around her. You know how he is – he's never had any trouble talking to girls, and was never short of company when he was growing up, and they liked him – he didn't have droves of girls hanging around, but those that did really did enjoy his company, and liked how respectful he was towards them. Elizabeth doesn't seem to be interested in him…well, not much. I think it's someone else."

"And of course, he wouldn't tell us about it. Probably not until after the wedding!"

Eve laughed. "Probably not!"

* * *

><p>I felt like this is a good stopping point. At this point, I think 'Season of the Witch' has come to a dead end, but maybe some day I'll get back to it. Either way, when the muse calls, it's best to answer or you get terrible headaches.<p>

Reviews welcome.

And yes, this is possibly the first A-Team fic based on a Jane Austen novel. My version has some twists and turns to it that I hope will prove entertaining anyway.


	2. Solitude

It was so damned hot.

That was one thing James could barely stand, and he had yet to come up with a means of imagining it away. Usually, his mind could find some means of escaping from unpleasantness – lately, it had been sock puppets and a growing interest in improv comedy. But there was something about the thick, sticky heat of East Texas' Big Thicket – where he had been bred and born - that was insurmountable even to his agile mind.

He was lying on the dock, working on his tan and thinking about whatever passed through his mind. The smell of the schoolrooms back at Courtville High. The crack of the bat against a baseball, with Jerry Spivey's voice booming over the roar of the Saturday night crowd, calling it a home run and James trotting easily over the bases. He had the best batting average in the history of Courtville High, but the scouts hadn't come around, as Courtville was so far away from _everything_ and was renowned only for its bayous, the size of the local alligators, and the mosquitoes, which often carried away unwary fishermen. Courtville had some pretty old Victorian houses, some fine old East Texas families and lots of prime farmland. Beyond that, it was just a heat-drenched little town with a population of eight-hundred-ninety-four people. Fortunately, James had never had much interest in playing a boy's game for a living. He had joined the Army as soon as he'd graduated school. The Army had seen his talent for flying, and his life's path was set…with a few interesting wanderings into the proverbial weeds along the way.

He was twenty-five years old, felt twice that age already, and was glad to be away, even from flying, at least for a while. It was good to be away from the Army, and the hospitals, the therapists, the stress and anxiety, the bloodletting and the screaming and the terror. Away, even, from his father's constant worry. Even though he adored both his parents and appreciated their concern, it just got wearying sometimes, seeing Ben's hair turning whiter by the day and Eve trying to make him comfortable to the point of getting on his nerves. He could only eat so many of his favorite dishes from childhood ("Pigs in blankets, sweetie!") and listen to so many reminiscences before it just got…_exhausting_.

He had spent two months in that hospital, on his back, bored to tears (sometimes, the tears weren't from boredom) and having to go through rehab to be able to walk 'normally', with a limp that would plague him for the rest of his life. The surgeons had put his hip back together quite well, but no amount of surgery could take away that scar or the nightmares.

He didn't just limp physically, either. The mental limp was getting more pronounced now, and it was scaring him. There seemed to be nothing that could soothe away that stress. No pills, no therapy…nothing seemed to make that whirling in his mind slow and stop and settle. He often likened his mind to a bird, constantly on the move, constantly alert but not knowing what it was supposed to be worrying about. In the past few years, anxiety was the one constant in his life, aside from flying, and it was starting to make his nerves fray at the ends.

He looked up at the sky, which was turning a dark shade of blue, and frowned. It was getting late, and soon the mosquitoes would be out in force. He scrambled up, wincing when the pain from his hip hit him, and turned around, bending down to pick up his T-shirt. He heard a soft gasp and almost jumped out of his skin.

_Anne Elliott_.

He stared at her, wide-eyed. He had been studiously avoiding her all summer, because while he knew he was slowly going crazy, he was not _stupid_.

Pervert, he told himself angrily and yanked his shirt on as fast he could. She was standing there, holding some schoolbooks tight against her not-quite-fully developed but promising chest, her smoke-colored eyes wide. Her silky golden-blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and she was wearing a light blue blouse and soft, faded jeans. He glanced down and was horrified to see that his jeans were still unbuttoned. He turned away from her to do the buttons up quickly, remembering having read of some eighteenth-century English aristocrat who had finally shot himself and left a note about how he just couldn't stand all those damned buttons any more. He knew how that guy felt now. Zipper, next time, Jamesie-boy, he told himself, before turning back around.

"Er…hi, Anne." He winced. More than a couple of times, in the past month, he had forgotten to keep a firm control on his imagination and _that_ part of his brain – and other portions of his anatomy – had whirled around _her_. Damn, damn, damn fool…sick, disgusting pervert. Ape bastard. Jackass. _Creep_.

"Mr…C-Captain Murdock," she said, nodding, her cheeks turning pink. _Godamighty, if she knew what you were thinking, she'd be doing more than blush. She'd be screaming the trees down._

She was far from home, he thought as he forced his thoughts away from anything improper, remind himself firmly that she was _fifteen_, He glanced down the road that lead to the little dirt road that wound through the heavily-wooded property that belonged to his family and frowned. The Elliott farm – a plantation, really, for lack of a better term – was almost ten miles away from here. He frowned. "What are you doing out here?"

"I was walking home from work."

"_Work_?"

"Yes. I work at Miss Marnie's Boutique. Part-time, after school. I help people select clothes and stuff."

That sounded about right. If a rich girl in town wanted to earn some of her own pin money, she took a job in one of the little boutiques or cutsie little clothes stores and woman-food tea parlors in town, where they served _hot_ tea and little cucumber sandwiches to fussy old ladies and tourists. Courtville was famous for one more thing, that James only found amusing – the town fathers had decided that a great way of pulling in tourists was to ban automobiles from the town and only allow bicycles, horses and people on their own two feet to enter the city limits. A train brought loads of tourists in all summer and they would wander the streets, marveling at the late nineteenth century Victorian quaintness of the place. James was surprised they hadn't also banned telephones and electricity, but so far that stuff was allowed in town. Otherwise, everybody would have died of heat stroke by now, which would have slowed down the tourist trade a bit.

"Right." He let himself look at her again, and took in her soft curves and smooth-as-silk skin. She was a looker all right – far prettier than her sister, who he knew was a spendthrift little floozy. He cast about, trying to find something to say to her that wouldn't make him feel as guilty as he always felt when he thought about her. Wait…yes! She had an older sister, Marie, who was married and lived on the other side of town.

"How's your sister…Marie, right? Married Charlie Musgrove?" James had gone to school with Charlie. He was a good guy, even if he was a bit too obsessed with hunting and fishing.

"Yes. She's fine. She just had a baby boy."

"Right, right, I heard about that," he nodded. His brow furrowed. "This isn't the way home," he told her. "You're not lost, are you?"

"No. Of course not."

"Then what…"

"I like to walk out here, before I go home," she said. "I like…I like the solitude…"

"_Solitude_?"

"Yes. I like being alone sometimes. Just…you know…listening and watching…"

He thought about her family for a moment – her overspending, self-absorbed father and her silly sisters, neither of whom could seem to keep their yaps shut. No wonder she liked being alone. "Watching what?" he asked her.

"Um…" She blushed, and James drew in his breath. "Just…I like to come out here sometimes and sit on the dock…"

"What, you skinny dip?" he asked her, relaxing and grinning.

"Certainly not!" she answered, looking appalled. "There's water moccasins out there, you know, and cottonmouths…and… 'gators!"

"Eh…yeah…" He scratched the back of his neck. "Well…it's gettin' dark. I won't have your bein' some 'gator's evenin' snack on my conscience. Lemme give you a drive home."

"I can walk…"

"Nope. Like you said, gators, cottonmouths, moccasins, plus there's other stuff in there you don't want to know about."

"Oh, like what?" she said, raising an eyebrow. No, she was nothing like her sisters. Marie had always been an uppity, whiney little thing and Elizabeth was intelligent but made no efforts to improve herself. The only one of the Elliott girls that ever showed any sign of gumption or good sense was definitely Anne. No wonder Alan liked her. James frowned. His little brother liked this girl, and they were _dating_. Well, sort of. He doubted the two of them had gotten beyond sharing a banana split at the café.

James wasn't one to boast, but he had advanced considerably beyond that stage of courtship. Before he had left Cambodia – before he'd been shot - in fact, he had spent a very enjoyable night with a graceful and very open-minded French photographer named Colette…

"Well…I like to listen to the birds sing. My mother was really into bird-watching, and I like to do that, too. It helps me remember her. We came out here all the time…b-before she got sick. I come out here with my sketchbook and my pencils and …" her voice trailed off and she shrugged.

"Right." James couldn't remember his own mother. Eve had been the only mother he'd ever known, and she had taught him how to knit. He didn't knit much any more. The VA hospitals wouldn't let him have such big needles, after all… "Birds, huh? That's pretty cool. Ever seen…a…" He snapped his fingers, trying to remember. "A whatayacallit…a painted bunting?"

She smiled. "Yes, of course."

He looked around, chewing on his lower lip. "I fly, y'know…so I like birds. And horses."

"_Thou shalt have flight without wings_," she said gravely, nodding. He grinned at her, but his smile faded as he studied her. She was so beautiful – like a princess in a fairy tale book, as innocent as a dove. A _fifteen-year old_ princess, that is, he told himself again, and you'd better not behave as anything other than a polite man seeing to her safety. He glanced back at the water, and noted a log drifting by in an overly casual manner. _Gator_. He stepped forward and gestured toward the log. "Toothy McEatsman is back there. Let's head off…like I said, I can give you a drive home."

Anne looked up and saw the first stars of dusk beginning to appear in the flawless sky. "Thank you."

He walked past her, and winced as his aching hip slowed his gait, but he determinedly continued on, hearing her soft steps behind her. He opened the passenger door of his old pickup and gestured for her. "Your chariot awaits, Mademoiselle."

* * *

><p>Anne glanced at Captain Murdock again, noting his strong, muscular arms and the Airborne Rangers tattoo on his muscled bicep. She glanced down at the schoolbooks on her lap and tried to think about trigonometry. He glanced at her and she felt her cheeks turning pink again.<p>

She had known him since babyhood, though she had never actually spoken with him before. He rarely even seemed to acknowledge her, besides a polite 'hello' when they ran into each other in town, or when she came over to the house to see Alan. It was just a schoolgirl crush, she knew, but a customer at Miss Marnie's had told her she had excellent taste for one so young, and she wondered if her good taste also ran towards the types of men she liked to at least _look_ at. Captain Murdock wasn't classically handsome, but he was charismatic and, if the stories she'd heard were true, extremely courageous. He had been wounded in battle somewhere, and was considered the best pilot in the history of the United States military.

So she admired him. That wasn't too weird, but it was certainly dangerous, because she didn't just admire him. When she was with Alan – for all their relationship's innocence and lack of mutual desire – she thought about his older brother instead. She supposed it was safe to think about him, too, because he was ten years her senior and was rarely in Courtville any more anyway, and so long as he didn't know about it, then there was no harm done, to him or to herself.

"How long've you been workin' at Miss Marnie's? And how is that old bat, anyhow?"

Startled from her thoughts, she squeezed her knees together and hazarded a look at him. He was still watching the road ahead, one jean-clad knee bouncing, his wrist on the steering wheel, his other hand on the gearshift. She looked down at his hand, noting that there was a scar on his knuckle, above his index finger.

"She's…that's not very kind. Miss Marnie is a nice woman." She lifted her chin and gave him a cool look.

"A nice old bat," he flashed her a jaunty grin. "I remember Sunday school, when she'd put knots in the back of my head for misbehaving. Couldn't even swing my feet in her class."

Anne couldn't hold back a giggle. "She's slowed down a little. Now, she uses a cane to terrorize her victims."

"Really? What does she do?"

"Well…" Anne spread her fingers over her geometry textbook. "She'll sidle up to someone and start talking to them…and she'll put the tip of her cane on that person's foot and lean into it. Her victim is too polite to tell her off, of course, 'cause she's, what, eight hundred years old? So they try to kind of shuffle away, and she just moves along with them. She told me once that now that she's old, she'll wear purple and jab people's toes with her cane and say and do whatever she pleases."

James laughed, hooting with amusement. "Enterprising old bat, then." He turned off the dirt road and onto the blacktop that would pass the front gates of The Shallows Plantation. "You like workin' out there?"

"I like it. I…she lets me try some of my designs on customers sometimes. She says I have good taste." Anne felt her cheeks getting warmer.

"You design clothes?"

"I…try to. She says I have some talent."

"Hm." The front gates of the plantation hove into view. The wrought-iron ranch gates, topped with the name of the plantation (THE SHALLOWS, EST. 1849) were hinged into tall brick columns topped with cast-iron eagles, signifying the family's (imagined) connection to the Earls of St. Germans. Anne started to get out to punch in the code on the security box, but he shook his head. "What's the number?"

"Oh-six-oh-nine-oh-four."

He leaned out the window, tapped the code in, and the gates swung up. The truck rattled over the cattle guard and he continued on up the carriageway, observing the myrtle trees lining the drive. "Pretty trees," he said, peering into the rearview mirror to make sure the gates closed. There were a few Charlois/Angus cross cattle wandering around the front pasture of the plantation, and they had no business taking an excursion into town.

"So…um…when you are going back to…base…?"

"That eager to get rid of me, huh?" He gave her a wan smile. "Coupla months."

"Oh…no, no…I mean…I've heard that you were wounded…I remember how upset Ben was about it. I just mean...I suspect he's not thrilled with you going back."

"You join the Army, you risk gettin' hurt sometimes," he shrugged. "Dad just can't seem to accept that." He swung into the circular drive of the massive old house and glanced up at the graceful columns supporting the upper gallery above the wide, deep porch. "I forgot how pretty this old place was."

"Yes. I've always loved it."

"One of the last working plantations in Texas," he laughed. "Still raisin' cotton an' indigo?"

She smiled. "Yes."

"Hard livin'," he shook his head. "We have enough trouble with maize and timothy hay. Hey, I'll see ya 'round." He reached across her, not touching her, and popped the door handle, forcing it to release so she could get out.

"Thank you, Captain Murdock."

"It's James," he told her. "You can call me James."

Anne smiled shyly and got out, clutching her books. He observed her sketchpad, and saw she was clutching colored pencils in her hand. "You just draw fashion designs and the like with those things, or do you draw anything else?"

"I draw…other things. Things I see in the woods…animals and things."

"Can I see?"

She seemed reluctant, but finally, she put the books on the carseat and extracted the pad and opened it to a page. He pulled it toward him and looked at the charcoal sketch of a group of cedar waxwings drinking from a small pool in the woods, surrounded by trees and shadows. The drawing was lifelike, and the work of a true talent. He looked up at her. "You could make a side living on that," he said. "Maybe a full-fledged second living, after fashion design."

She blushed, pleased and frightened at once. "Th-thank you Cap-…er, James."

"Right." He nodded and pushed the sketchbook back to her. He looked over her shoulder and saw her sister Elizabeth coming down the steps. Cashmere and pearls, just like always, but no substance. She looked wonderingly at her baby sister and then at James, who handed the books back to Anne and started the engine. "See ya, kiddo," he said, and drove away.

* * *

><p>"Hey, Crazy Man, wake up."<p>

Murdock wuffled grumpily and sat up, his pleasant dream fizzling away in the Iraq heat. He glared up at B.A. for a moment before getting up. He immediately regretted having done that. Some people said love made the world go round, but he was of the opinion that standing up too fast could do the same thing, and make your lunch come up too.

They were stationed somewhere southeast of Bagdad, in amongst hundreds of other tired, hot, bored soldiers waiting around for something to happen, or something to do. Murdock had managed to get into his tent for some peace and quiet. _Solitude_, which was something he was rarely allowed and never asked for, because Face would think he was depressed and report to Hannibal, who would come looking for him to give him a pep talk, which made attempts at being alone for a while far too complicated and tiresome to be worth the trouble.

Not that he didn't try sometimes. Just to be by himself, so he could think and remember and remind himself to fast forward, past the ending, where it all hurt so much. Still hurt.

"What? What is it?" he asked, yawning. A cool front had come in – it was only one-hundred fifteen degrees outside, according to the thermometer by his door. He rubbed his eyes and yawned.

"We're headin' out. Got an op' twenty miles north'a here."

"Fantabulous, muchacho," Murdock feigned cheerfulness, but he could see that Baracus wasn't buying it.

"I almost didn't wake you up, fool," B.A. said. "You looked like you was havin' a pretty good dream there. Some woman?" He grinned at Murdock, expecting the pilot to become evasive at best or embarrassed at worst.

"Nope. Just cedar waxwings, O Great Barackian One. Let's go!"


	3. Ghost Lights

_I need to correct the chronology just a bit – the story starts in 1998, as I calculate Murdock to have been about thirty when he was taken out of that hospital in Mexico in 2002 (as per the film's chronology). Hope that makes sense. I was writing numbers and ages all over the place, figuring it out. Math, as you can tell, is NOT my strong suit. So…anyway, in 2011, Murdock would be about thirty-eight, and Anne about twenty-eight. _

* * *

><p>"We just don't have a choice, Daddy. We have to close the plantation down."<p>

Harry glared at Anne, then looked across the table at Elizabeth, who rolled her eyes. "Surely you're joking."

"This isn't a joke," Anne said, trying to add an edge to her voice to indicate the _seriousness_ of this situation. "It's becoming dangerous to live here. We've lost ten beeves so far, and the sheriff said it was definitely poison, and pretty soon, it won't be an old, rickety barn that gets burned down. It'll be the stables or…"

"We can certainly get a proper security firm out here," Harry said, taking a sip of his wine.

"And pay them with _what_?" Anne asked, exasperated. "You can't even pay the bills, Daddy."

Harry Elliot's expression grew even harder, and he pushed his plate away.

This family meeting had gone from bad to worse. Elizabeth was seated beside Harry, and shooting Anne looks that indicated her disgust with this entire conversation. The only two sensible people in the room were Anne's friend Lily Russell and the family's attorney, Mike Horsley.

Lily finally put her fork down and formed her words carefully. "Mr Elliott, I think you fail to grasp just how bad things are. There's no money left to cover anything but the barest necessities. You can't pay the farm workers, the property taxes are barely covered, there's a drought going on so that water prices are high as well. The cattle can't be fed anything other than maize. You're going to have to sell all or most of the horses…"

Anne sighed. Like the horses could be kept to work in the kitchen? That stung the most, selling them. Particularly her favorite riding horse, which she had been riding every summer since she'd turned sixteen, when she had received her as a gift. The mare was aging gracefully, but who would buy a seventeen-year old mare?

"And now, we've got someone threatening you unless you pay off that loan," Mike said. He cleared his throat. He reminded Anne a lot of Foghorn Leghorn, but unlike the cartoon rooster, he was a highly intelligent, sensible man. His courtroom tactics were grandiose and overblown, but he won for his clients more often than he lost, and he was a legend in East Texas. Fortunately, he was a good friend of the family and firmly refused to take payment for his services to them. Anne suspected that if it weren't for Mike, they would be even more broke than they were now. "It still amazes me, Harry, that you would take a loan from those people. Why you didn't consult me…"

"It was an excellent deal!" Harry said sharply, losing his temper for a moment. He reeled it back in and pursed his lips. "If things hadn't gone south so fast, we'd be in the black now."

Anne had to force herself to keep from rolling her eyes. Taking a loan from Spencer Hawes and his 'firm' was an 'excellent deal'? The man was a crook, and always had been, and crooks could always spot an easy mark. Harry Elliott was the easiest mark around, when it came to making bad deals and poor investments. She wished her mother were alive, for about the millionth time in the past twenty minutes. Charlotte Elliott had quietly taken over Harry's money and business dealings once they'd married, and even though she only had a high school education and a good deal of common sense, The Shallows had prospered with her in charge. Money hadn't piled around in stacks in the barn, but it had come in steadily and consistently, and Harry had let her take care of everything. Once she had died, however, Harry had taken the reins and drove the family finances to ruin in just a few short years. Since her mother's death, Anne couldn't remember a time when they had had enough to cover all the bills.

"So now you expect us all to pull up stakes and move into town?" Harry said.

"Not town, exactly. Courtville has no available places. Sweet Springs, maybe or…"

"_Sweet Springs_?" Harry looked appalled. "What sort of life would we have in Sweet Springs? There's nothing there!"

"Exactly, Daddy," Anne interjected there. "Nothing to spend money on. Mike found some very nice rental properties outside of Sweet Springs that are well within your price range. You and Elizabeth could both live there very comfortably, and so long as you keep expenses to a minimum, you might even enjoy yourself." She took a deep breath, waiting for his response.

Harry frowned at his youngest daughter. She could see that she had made just the right point, because for once he wasn't looking entirely displeased. "I suppose we could live fairly well there."

"Daddy!" Elizabeth said, looking horrified. "Surely you can't…"

"Anne has already contacted two possibly rental owners, and they would be ready to negotiate at your convenience," Mike said, cutting Elizabeth off.

"Anne has?" Harry took the papers from Mike and read them over.

"Sweet Springs is only ten miles from here," Anne told her father. "You and Elizabeth can go directly there once you strike a deal to rent one of those places. The houses are large, and Mike and Lily have both helped me draw up a budget – living expenses, spending money, and so on. I'll stay here and close up the plantation and make sure the house is in order. Once that's done, the money that would have had to be spent on this place could go into an account in the bank that either of you could use…" There was a scary thought, Anne thought. Giving money to her father and sister was likely giving whiskey and car keys to teenaged boys.

"To a certain degree," Mike nodded. He looked at Anne, raising an eyebrow, and she knew he was thinking the same thing.

"You would stay here?" Harry asked. "Yes, that would be a good idea."

Anne figured it _would_ be a good idea to not even attempt to live with them. But how long could she even stay in Texas? She had her work in New York, and just getting away for a few weeks required a lot of moving things around and upsetting a _lot_ of people. All this had to happen just as she was getting ready for the debut of her spring designs during Fashion Week, and in another two weeks she was supposed to have been in Paris. That might all end up being scrapped entirely, because of this awful nightmare her father had gotten them into.

She was honest enough with herself to recognize that she would rather spent the day stroking the egos of petulant designers, temperamental models and shrieking fashion critics than her father and her sister, but like it or not, family was family, and The Shallows was still home.

"All right then," Lily said. "So we can assume the matter is settled?"

"I don't like it," Elizabeth said, pouting. "I was going to go to Neiman-Marcus next week, and now I have to pack up and head _south_ instead of to Dallas! This is all your fault, Anne!"

Anne bit back a retort. Lily's expression hardened.

"How much did you spend last time you were in Dallas, Elizabeth?" Lily asked mildly.

"I don't know…the new winter lines were out!"

Anne got up, murmuring a soft 'excuse me' and left – she had given up on Elizabeth a long time ago, and was not going to get into another verbal sparring match with her. Out in the hallway, she looked briefly at herself in the mirror and shook her head, seeing that she certainly wasn't getting any younger – she would be twenty-eight next month.

She decided then that she would not stay at The Shallows during this visit home. She would go visit Marie at the AX Ranch and try to find some means of relaxing at least a little. It would give her time to think and make some plans.

She was going to have to make decisions now, without the interference of her father and sister, about the future of The Shallows. She would never allow the plantation to be sold, of course, but there had to be some way of changing it from a cash-drain to a cash-cow. She needed some solitude to think. Marie was whiney and self-centered, but the AX was a peaceful place, and if her sister got too annoying, she could go visit Charlie's parents at their ranch next door.

She went upstairs and into her old bedroom – it had not been changed since she'd left home, she noted. Same pale blue walls and white accents. Same Battenberg lace curtains and white-painted hardwood floors; same blue and yellow French quilt on the bed. A set of French doors opened onto the gallery that looked out over the front of the property, which expanded all the way to the road beyond. She could see the line of willows along Court Creek. On the other side of the creek was the Murdock property – a sprawling farm that was now owned by Alan and Matthew Murdock. Their middle brother, David, was an architect and lived in Austin. James was…

Anne squeezed her eyes shut and sat down on her bed. She clasped her hands together and thought of him again. Of all the things they had talked about, and the time they had spent together, in secret. Of the scent of his cologne and his crooked smile and beautiful green eyes. Of her regrets…

She got up and went to the old hope chest at the foot of her bed, removing the wedding ring quilt she had inherited from her grandmother, and carefully opened the box, removing other old quilts and show ribbons, her stuffed teddy bear and the old dolls she had played with as a girl, and searched for a moment until she found the letters. They were tied together with a piece of blue silk ribbon, and she fingered them cautiously, as if expecting them to grow fangs and attack her. In fact, even after nine years, they could still inflict the worst pain she would ever know.

* * *

><p>"I was thinking about buying a nice chiffon dress and high-heeled shoes. Throw in a tiara and we'll make a deal."<p>

Anne looked up from her sketchbook, where she had been 'free-style' designing of a new idea, and was startled to see James Murdock standing there. How had he gotten in without the bells on the doorknob jingling? She looked around the store, which was empty. Miss Marnie was in the back office, going over figures, and the other two salesgirls were out to lunch. She had been left behind to mind the counter until they returned.

"I don't think you'd look good in a dress," she said. "But we can certainly try. I think you'd look good in…green?"

"I'd look like a swamp frog. An ugly swamp frog."

"Is there any other kind?"

He grinned. "I'm actually in here lookin' for somethin' to give Eve for her birthday."

"I don't think she'd like a chiffon dress and heels." Anne closed her sketchbook. "She seems far too sensible far that, but we have some very nice jewelry and scarves."

"She hates scarves and doesn't go much for jewelry. Doesn't even wear makeup. I never understood scarves, anyway, at least not for women 'round here. It's hot enough. Why make it even worse?"

"How about shoes?" Anne asked.

"I don't know her size."

Anne eyed him warily. "So do you have _any_ idea what she'd like?"

"Er…gardening clogs?"

"There's no such thing as _fashion_ garden clogs."

"Really? I read about some woman in New York who designed clothes out of garbage. Garden clogs are a few steps above that, I should think."

"Well, you won't find fashion clogs here," Anne said, feeling a little desperate now, as if the energy in the room was being drawn in by him. Her own energy was being pulled toward him, too, and she didn't know how to handle that at all. It was odd – he wasn't a large man. In fact, he was lean and just barely six feet in height, yet he seemed too big for indoor spaces. His hair was windblown and never seemed to be combed, and he had a tan from a life spent outdoors in the sun.

"This is a clothes boutique. We sell clothes, shoes, jewelry, handbags…"

"There you go! Handbags…pocketbooks, purses, whatever. Lemme look at them. She likes pink."

"Pink?"

"Mm." He nodded. "Are you goin' walkin' by the river tonight?"

"No. I'm…I'm going to the movie with Alan and some friends, and then…uh…the café."

"Right. Right." He nodded, shuffled his feet awkwardly. "Good. You two seem…uh…pretty compatible."

"He's nice," she nodded. Just nice. Alan was really very sweet, and kind, and she genuinely liked him. There wasn't a mean bone in his body, or a single drop of guile. He was very respectful toward her…toward everybody, actually. The Murdock men were all like that, really. Only James, however, had a streak of wildness about him. Not that the others were boring, but they didn't seem to possess James's free spirit. Anne had long ago concluded that there were two types of personality types in people – they were either like cows or like horses. Some people were like cows: very docile and calm, standing around, being polite, and chewing. Others, like James, were constantly moving, full of energy, ready to explode even in repose. She wished that she were a bit more _horse_like. She was almost sixteen and had never rebelled against anything or anyone in her life. She had never even taken a pen home from the boutique, because it didn't belong to her. Her father described her as a 'good, well-behaved girl'. A goody-two shoes. _Boring_.

"Right. He's a good kid."

A strangely comfortable silence settled between them, and their gazes locked. His eyes were green – almost emerald colored, but touched with flecks of gold, and she was mesmerized by them. Finally, he seemed to jerk himself out of his thoughts. "I'm goin' back to base in a few days. Got my orders last night – vacation's been cut short."

"Oh…oh, yes…I'm sorry to hear that."

He frowned, and chewed on his lip a moment, thinking. "I reckon I'll be goin' to someplace in the Middle East. Or maybe South America. Or Jupiter. God knows where, really."

She smiled at his half-hearted joke and gestured awkward toward the purse display by the front window of the boutique. "The purses…we…we're having a sale, actually. Fif-fifteen percent off. The new spring lines will be in soon and…and so we're getting rid of as much older stock as we can."

"Right." He followed her to the display and pondered the purses in silence, hands on his hips. "That one'll do, I think." He snatched up a magenta-pink purse with a gold clasp and handed it to her. Their fingers touched and Anne's cheeks flamed as she took it. She rushed to the cash register and for a moment stared at the machine, unable to remember how it operated, or how to scan the item, or where she was or what her name was. She glanced up and saw he was still standing by the purses, watching her, an odd expression on his face, one eyebrow raised. Finally, she managed to get her fevered mind to work again and rang up the sale.

"That's sixty-five sixty."

"_Sixty-five sixty_ for a purse? What's it got in it, the film showing who really killed Kennedy?"

"I don't determine the prices."

"And that's _after_ the fifteen-percent reduction?"

"Yes," she said desperately. The cash register said that, didn't it? She looked wildly at the screen and nodded. "Yes."

"Right. Okay. At least I'm on an officer's pay grade now." He dug out his wallet and extracted his credit card. "No military discount?"

She shook her head. "No…sorry…"

He grinned at her and watched as she rang up the sale and shoved the purse into a bag. She handed the card back to him, with the sales slip and a pen to sign the store copy.

"You're in…what, the tenth grade?"

She nodded.

"Turnin' sixteen soon, huh?"

"Yes. In…in two weeks."

"October…?"

"Tenth."

He signed the slip and handed the pen to her again. She tried to take it, but he wouldn't let go. "Maybe I'll send you a birthday card, from wherever I am."

"I…um…that would be…nice," she stammered.

"Ever been anywhere further south than Sweet Springs?"

"I've been to Dallas…and Beaumont, and Houston…"

"Port Arthur? And Saratoga?" He grinned. "Seen the light up there?"

"The Bragg Road ghost light? No."

"You oughtta go see it. It's quite a show. It either gives ya the willies or it gives you a thrill. Either way, there's a rare local kid 'round here that hasn't experienced it."

"I don't generally go for…for thrills."

"What's life without a thrill?" he asked her, lowering his voice a little. "It's only five miles away, y'know. A hop, skip an' a jump. You could walk."

"I would never go alone…particularly on foot!" she said, knowing she was the poster child for fraidycats. She finally tugged the pen away from, avoiding touching him again.

"I could take you."

The bell on the door jingled as a customer came in. Anne, flustered and discombobulated, rushed around to properly greet the woman, who stood there, startled to see the rather scruffy looking man at the counter. He nonetheless gave the customer a cheeky grin and turned to leave, carrying his present for his stepmother. He glanced back at Anne, who was trying to concentrate on what the woman was telling her she wanted to find, and caught her eye. It was only when she looked so stricken and embarrassed that his smile faded away and made an apologetic gesture, and with that, he turned and left, taking his energy with him and making her feel strangely empty inside.

* * *

><p>"Anne?" Lily Russell came into her room and gently shut the door behind her. Anne stood up, straightening her clothes and quickly shoving the letters back into the box.<p>

"Yes. I was…um…just thinking a little. What we should do about this place. It's so strange to be home…it doesn't feel the same."

"I actually have an idea. I haven't talked to Mike about it, much less your father, but I think it would be an excellent means of bringing money into the estate. I wanted to run the idea by you first, though."

"Right…right." Lily always seemed to have answers. She had had the answers nine years ago, hadn't she? She had known exactly what should be done, and what should be said.

"Well, I thinking that this place would make an excellent bed and breakfast. Just a few minor modifications and upgrades, and you'd be turning a profit in about two years. Of course, it would be a hard slog at first, and…"

"Daddy would never hear of such a thing." Anne banged the hope chest shut and locked it. She had never shown the letters to Lily. Or anyone else, for that matter. She had memorized every line, run her fingers over every word he had written to her as she had prayed for his safety. She had grieved over his troubles and his successes…particularly when he was finally taken out of that hospital in Mexico and given a new life. But she had only heard about that through the town's grapevine, which was the envy of Ernest and Julio Gallo. He had not written to her at all in the past nine years, nor had he come back to Courtville, except for his father's funeral, and she had been in New York then.

Anne doubted she would ever see him again.

"Anne…" Lily said, seeing her troubled expression.

"Lily, I know you always wanted the best for me, and that you always tried to guide me right, but…but I still think…I still wonder if…how it would have been…"

The other woman frowned, knowing what was coming. She was a strong-willed woman: a successful interior designer, and was just starting to make a name for herself, just like Anne. She and Anne had become friends years ago, when they discovered they had mutual interests in art and design, besides genuinely enjoying each others company. Lily had always felt obligated to protect Anne, who even now, after years in New York and working in the fashion industry, traveling around the world and enjoying more and more success, remained astonishingly innocent.

"Anne, you were _nineteen_. He was…unstable. In the military, going from base to base around the world, and had little money…but the instability was the most worrying thing. If you had taken that path, you would be living hand-to-mouth, living at dreary posts, while he was either off somewhere being shot at or worse, or staying in those _facilities_…leaving behind your _own_ dreams…"

Anne turned away, hiding her tears. "He _was_ my dream," Anne whispered, so softly that Lily couldn't hear. She scraped her raw emotions back together and turned back to face her friend, knowing she had only been trying to help her. She smiled softly. "I suppose I should get started with packing, hm?"


	4. Thrills

Well, I guess by now someone is calling Anne a Mary Sue, but I don't really mind, and don't really think she is a Mary Sue. I think I'm drawing a pretty human character here. ::shrug::

* * *

><p>Murdock released the safety on the pistol and checked the target, keeping one eye on Face as the conman went through his own checks. Face was, to his mind, a little <em>too<em> cautious when doing target practice. But he had grown up in Ohio, and hadn't been around guns until he had joined the Army. Peck wanted to make sure all the conditions were right before he started shooting at anything, and no amount of Murdock attempting to explain the notion of having to shoot when you _weren't_ prepared seemed to change Face's mind. Not that Face wasn't a fine shot in a pinch, but still…it was kind of strange. Face was usually only cautious when it came to guns and money. Women…not so much.

"All right, boys. Those pumpkins are in a killing mood," Hannibal said. "Have at 'em."

Murdock took the first shot, slicing the cut stem of the pumpkin right off. Face shot his pumpkin right in its carved eye, blowing out the back of the gourd entirely and causing it crumple on the right side. Second shot, Murdock knocked a tooth out and watched Face shoot through his target's right eye.

They had bought the carved pumpkins from a roadside stand near Calabasas. The kids selling them had been practicing their carving skills, apparently, and while they were not experts, they had some talent. It seemed a shame to be blowing them to pieces like this, but who wanted to drive around with rotting pumpkins in a van with four large, sweaty, increasingly touchy men?

"Very good," Hannibal said. "B.A., you ready?"

The sergeant began firing away with his rifle, and Face and Murdock stepped back, relaxing a little.

They had been in California for almost five months now. Two months of keeping one step ahead of the CIA and the MPs and taking jobs when they could, and living hand to mouth in the process, had taken its toll on them all. B.A. was even grumpier than usual. Hannibal had lost ten pounds, Face was out of emollients and good shampoo, and Murdock had trouble sleeping than usual.

Hannibal stepped up for his target practice and began firing his snub-nosed pistol, blowing his pumpkin to smithereens. Well…two or three largish smithereens. Smithers, really, Murdock decided. He put his pistol away and walked back to the van, coughing as dust whirled around him. He slid the door open and clambered in, flopping onto his seat and wiping sweat from his forehead. He closed his eyes and tried to think of some place that was cool and relaxing, and preferably rather safe. This California desert was _not_ safe and it was definitely not cool and he was pretty damned sick of the whole thing now. He wanted cool now. A bottle of Dr Pepper so cold ice was floating in it, and maybe a pint of Blue Bell. He heard the rifle popping, and Face's pistol – bang, bang, bang – and B.A. whooping and let his shoulders relax and let his mind loose.

* * *

><p>There she was again.<p>

He slowed the truck and pulled up alongside her, leaning on the steering wheel and studying her. She lifted her chin a little and he grinned. "Hey. Walkin' in the moonlight, huh?"

"I had to work late. We're doing inventory."

"Want a ride?"

He didn't mean to put a double _entendre_ into the word, and he called himself a vile word for having done so. What was strange – and a pretty big relief to him – was that she didn't recognize it as such and only stared warily at him, completely unaware of her appeal.

"I…shouldn't."

"Why not?"

He knew why not. It was inappropriate, for one thing. Fifteen-year old girls don't ride around in cars – or trucks – with twenty-five year old men, that's why not. But Anne only looked down, studying her feet. She was wearing a T-shirt displaying the a graphic image of the Eiffel tower and a pair of snug, faded jeans. She was only carrying her purse this time – no sketchbook.

"Well…I…"

"It's all right, Little Red Riding Hood," he told her. "I don't bite. C'mon. I'll give you a lift home. It's too hot, and it's not a good idea for you to be out here this time of night. Big bad wolves…plus coyotes, and you've heard about the Skunk Apes around here, haven't you?"

She sighed and rolled her eyes. It was hot. Dreadfully so, even at such a late hour. The air conditioner in his truck was the only thing in it that really worked well, and it was going full force now. He leaned over and popped the door handle and she finally went around and climbed in, sitting far from him, knees together, hands clasped in her lap. There's a good girl, he thought, and pondered the other girls – not many – who had gotten into this truck with him. He swallowed. _Don't think about that, you idiot_, he told himself. _She's fifteen!_

He studied her a moment. "So…how's school going?"

"Pretty good," she finally answered, and he started the engine. The truck whined, sputtered, and finally started up. He rolled his eyes. Damned thing was getting old. It was older than him, in fact, and past its prime.

"What's your favorite subject?" he asked, needing desperately to find something to talk with her about.

"I like art, and history, and literature," she said, nervously flicking away an imaginary speck of dust from her denim-covered knee. "What about you?"

"I'm not in school any more," he answered.

"What _were_ your favorite subjects?" she asked, giving him an exasperated look.

"Math…English…er…I was in the drama club, too, and…uh…English lit. Creative writing was my thing, too, but they kicked me off the school paper after I did a hard-hitting expose on the food being served at school. I mean, let's face it – when there's a PA announcement from the school principal about how from now on, they were only going to serve one hundred _pure_ ground _beef_ hamburgers at the school cafeteria, it cannot be taken as anything other than a thing to be somewhat concerned about, don't you agree? I know I wasn't the only member of the student body that was a tad worried about what we'd been eating _before_ then. I shoulda got a Pulitzer for that one."

She giggled, and his heartbeat quickened. He cleared his throat nervously. "I should take you on down to Saratoga," he said. "See if that light'll follow us home." He glanced at her. She was wringing her hands anxiously.

"I don't think that would be a good idea, Mis…Capta…James."

"Probably not." He turned onto her road and started toward The Shallows. "But good ideas are boring sometimes, aren't they, and you said you'd never seen those lights. So…I say we go on down there."

"Um…"

"Don't worry. It'll be okay. Nothin' to be scared of."

* * *

><p>"So where is this great and mysterious light?" she asked him, sounding vaguely bored. They had been sitting there, not saying anything, for twenty minutes now. The windows were still up, and he was running the AC, because otherwise they would have melted onto the seats.<p>

What a night for a no-show, he thought. Clear skies, moon so bright you could read by it, and no Bragg Road ghost light had come along yet. Maybe it was overheated and was taking a dip in the river. He had brought Katie Bretherton out here one night…but as he recalled, if the light had showed up then, they had been too busy to have noticed it. He swallowed. _Fifteen_.

"Uh…I guess it ain't comin' out tonight."

"Oh."

"Well, that's long enough, I reckon. Sorry…" He shrugged helplessly and started the engine. Or tried to. The truck coughed, sputtered, and made no further response.

_Damn_.

"Uh…let me check the engine," he said weakly, and scrambled out. He rushed around, popped the hood and stared at the jumble of metal and coils. Yep, it was an engine all right. He frowned at a stain on his T-shirt and wondered where it had come from. He knew planes and quantum physics and why the theory of macroevolution was a insulting crock, but a truck engine had him beat all to bits. He studied it for several moments, wondering if maybe he fiddled with this cord it would…

"YEEEOOOOOWWWW! Sweet _mother_, that hurt!" he howled, jerking away from the hot coil he had touched. He heard Anne get out and saw her rush around to him.

"What happened?" she asked anxiously. "Are you hurt?"

He was shaking his burned hand, and jerked when she grabbed it and inspected the red mark on his palm. "Oh, James…I might have something in my purse…"

"It's all right…"

"No, it looks like a bad burn!" she said, and rushed back to the truck. She dug in her purse until she found what she was looking for, and returned with what looked like a small bottle of what looked like aloe. "I keep this stuff on me all the time, because I sunburn so easily," she explained as she popped open the lid and squeezed some of the clear liquid out. She began to gently rub the aloe into the burn, and he winced.

"Anne…"

"Wh-when you get home, you should keep putting aloe on it, and go to the doctor if it keeps stinging," she told him softly. "_Don't _put butter on it – that's just an old wive's tale…"

He stopped her talking by pressing his thumb to her lower lip, rubbing slowly across it. He heard her soft gasp, and she released his injured hand. He continued to gently rub, marveling at the softness of her, and traced his fingers slowly along the flawless line of her jaw to her neck, before his senses returned to him – warning him – and he jerked away from her. "Uh…right. Thanks. I…had better…uh…get this thing started again. It'll start. It just got overheated…" His gaze swung back to her again, and he saw her wide eyes and her flushed cheeks in the truck's headlights. _Damn right, something got overheated_.

She said nothing more. She only handed the bottle to him and went back to the truck. He was rubbing more aloe on his palm and trying to collect his thoughts and settle on something that _didn't_ arouse him when he heard Anne shriek. He nearly jumped out of his skin when he saw a ball of light – about the size of a basketball – flash past him, toward the springs. He was in the truck, forcing the engine to come to life, in a matter of seconds and backing out of the spot where they had parked along Bragg Road. Anne was hugging herself and either laughing or crying – he couldn't tell. He was becoming kind of hysterical himself. As he pushed the unhappy truck to its limits and sped back toward Courtville, he glanced at her and saw she was definitely laughing.

Her hand was covering her face and she was giggling for all she was worth. "The look on your face!" she said, between giggles. "I wish I'd had a camera!"

He gave her a look that indicated his displeasure with her, but that only made her laugh harder. Finally, after a few moments, he forgot his terror and started laughing too. "Jesus…well, now, you've finally had your thrill, haven't you, baby?"

Anne's laughter slowed and faded and she looked at him for several moments before she finally nodded. "Yes. Yes, I definitely had a thrill."

"Listen, I…"

"I mean…I mean, you don't see ghost lights every day, do you?" she asked him, her voice strangely husky as she tried to evade the real subject.

"Are you all right?" he asked her.

"I'm okay. I mean…I mean, I'll…I'll be okay."

"Listen, I'm sorry, okay? I didn't mean…I mean, I did…I mean, I shouldn't…" He shook his head. "Damn it, Anne, you're fifteen."

"Here's the road," she said, and he turned quickly, his training coming in handy as he took the sharp turn expertly. Anne clutched the door handle and squeaked but otherwise held herself together pretty well. He sped on toward the gates of The Shallows and finally turned, flooding the wrought-iron gates with the truck headlights. He turned them off and rolled down his window, punching in the numbers.

"You remember them?" she asked, perplexed.

"Photographic memory…perfect recall…" he muttered.

"Oh."

"Anne…listen, I…I should stay away from you, okay? And I will, I promise. I'm not…it's just wrong, okay? It's wrong…on so many levels. God knows I would never…I can't…you're just a kid…"

She looked down, pursing her lips, and finally looked up at him. "Yes, you're right. I mean…it's wrong…"

"Dammit…" he said softly, and moved to her, sliding his hand to the back of her neck and pulling her to him. Their mouths met halfway, and his kiss was gentle and sweet at first, before deepening, imploring her to open for him, to let him taste paradise. In her innocence, she had no notion of what to do. A small amount of pressure told her, and she gasped softly as his tongue stroked her lip and delved in, mating slowly and softly with hers. Her fingers clutched at the front of his T-shirt, and she whimpered as his mouth made love to hers. Her arms slipped around his neck, and he pulled her closer, his hand slowly slipping up to cover her breast, his palm rubbing against the tender crest…

Suddenly he jerked away, and ran a trembling hand through his hair. The gates were open. She touched her fingers to her lips, dazzled and excited and frightened all at once.

"Go home," he said, not harshly. "I'm leaving tomorrow. Just go home, Anne. I won't come around any more. I swear I won't…God strike me dead if I do again…"

* * *

><p>"What? What?" Murdock started and looked at Hannibal, who was standing outside the van door, smoking a cigar and watching him with concern on his face.<p>

"I said, are you all right?" Hannibal asked him patiently. "You were staring off into space again. Been doing that a lot lately. Ever since Long Beach. Bell got rung a little harder than you thought?"

"I'm fine and dandy, sir," Murdock nodded.

"Good." Hannibal didn't look entirely convinced, but he nodded anyway. Face and B.A. were coming up the little hill toward the van, carrying their guns and rifles and bickering cheerfully. Face jumped in and took his seat behind B.A. Baracus started up the engine as Hannibal climbed in, and they lurched away, heading back toward nowhere in particular.

"Well, that was a thrilling afternoon," Face said with a grin. "Damn fine shooting all around, eh, Murdock?"

"Yeah," Murdock managed a weary grin and thought of her again, sitting there, her mouth still moist from his kiss, her eyes wide and innocent, not knowing what she could do to him. Not having any notion of what she would end up doing to him. He turned his head from Face and closed his eyes, wishing to God he didn't have perfect recall and a breakable heart. "The thrill of a lifetime."


	5. Lentenor

"That's it, then? Is this all?"

Anne looked around the house and sighed, feeling sadness wash over her again, mingled with guilt. It had been hard to leave home, after she had graduated from school, to go to New York, but at least then she had a home to come back to. This was twice as hard, because now, the place was emptied out and swept clean. The house would be empty, except for dropcloth-covered furniture that would remain for now, until something could really be decided about the place. Even the paintings had been taken down, with some sold and others – portraits of past Elliotts in particular – put in storage.

Looking around, she couldn't help but think the walls actually looked _frightened_, as if they wondering where everybody had gone. She had come close, several times, to actually touching them, to reassure them that they would all be back some day.

But that would be crazy. Anne wasn't sure she would be very good at crazy.

A majority of the animals had been sold, including all the cattle (at rock-bottom prices), while Anne's mare had been removed to a boarding stable in Madisonville, where she would be treated like a queen. The farm workers had been paid their last checks and had moved on. The outbuildings were all closed and locked up tight. The last of the cotton and indigo had been harvested and sold, and not too badly, actually, after Anne had done the negotiating. Every acre of the plantation had been inspected carefully, repairs done to fences, and old, outdated farm machinery sold for scrap.

The drapes had been taken down from all the windows and replaced with large pieces of plywood, to keep the sun from damaging the floors. The water and electricity were turned off. The refrigerator and the walk-in freezer had been emptied out and scrubbed clean last, Anne and Lily slaving away the morning hours to get them clean and not smelling of anything unpleasant.

Harry and Elizabeth had already left for Sweet Springs, having no interest in taking part of any of the proceedings and definitely not inclined toward dealing with unpleasantness. Anne and Lily had spent the past week at The Shallows, working to get everything squared away. The burned-out shell of the old barn had been cleared away, too, and yesterday the sheriff had told her that it had, indeed, been arson. She knew who the culprit was, or at least who had given the order, for the burning and for the poisonings of their cattle. They were making a point, and the past few nights she had been genuinely frightened to be in the house. Every noise had made her jump, and last night she could have sworn she heard voices outside.

"It's cleared out, I think. Nothing left but ghosts," Lily said, her voice echoing in the large, empty room.

They got their bags and they went out onto the porch, and were not terribly surprised to see Spencer Hawes' Lincoln parked in the driveway. Anne groaned – the gate had been left open, as there was no more livestock around to wander away. She hadn't really thought it necessary to close them this morning when they had come back from breakfast in town.

"Annie," Spencer grinned at her, oozing charm. Anne remembered her Elliott hauteur, however, and lifted her chin.

"Mr Hawes."

"I'm here to offer my sincerest condolences on your unfortunate circumstances. Is there anything Joan and I can do to help?" He gestured toward his pretty blonde wife, who was leaning against his car. She acknowledged Anne with a cool, apprising look before returning her gaze to the beautiful old house. As if a Hawes or anyone like them would ever set foot in The Shallows, Anne thought angrily.

"A murder-suicide pact, perhaps?" Anne answered with an acid smile.

Spencer grinned at her. "I always did like you most, Annie. Tough little cookie, you are. A lot like your mother, I must say."

"My name is _Miss Elliot_ to you, Mr Hawes, and you are not welcome on my property, and neither are your little…toadies. And you are certainly not at _liberty_ to speak about my mother."

"Toadies?" he said, apparently unoffended. "I don't see any reason for you to be insulting, _Miss Elliott_. And I should point out that your father still owes me _several_ thousand dollars, and I want my money. With interest."

Spencer Hawes looked like a snake, to Anne. Everything about him was slithery, right down to his almost scaly, over-tanned skin, his slicked-back hair and his cold blue eyes. She hated the way he looked at her – the way his gaze would stop at her mouth and move down to her breasts and finally her _crotch_, which made her want to vomit. It made it even more disgusting that his wife was standing just a few feet away, oblivious to what a scumbag he was. Or maybe she did know and didn't care, which made it even more revolting.

Having nothing more to say, Anne let Lily pull her down the steps to her car. She got in, and shivered in spite of the heat.

"What an absolutely hideous man," Lily said, starting the engine.

"You don't think he'll do anything else to The Shallows, do you?" Anne asked anxiously, watching as Spencer and Joan got into their car and pulled out of the drive and headed back to the gates.

"Not with no one around here to intimidate," Lily shook her head. "But…well, I have an idea, Anne. I've been reading a little and doing some research on an idea that might be worth looking into…well, there might be help out there after all."

"Oh?" Anne dug in her purse for a piece of gum, needing something to get the nasty taste out of her mouth. Just being in that man's presence made her feel like she'd been drinking sulphur water.

"Um…well, let's head back to Sweet Springs and we'll discuss it."

* * *

><p>"Why are we here again?" Anne asked, looking around the roadhouse with growing trepidation. She had never really thought of herself as better than anyone else, but yet she also knew that this was <em>not<em> the sort of place an Elliott would ever be seen. No, the Elliotts frequented opera houses and the ballet and, had it been the nineteenth century, debtors' prisons. She wondered how she would handle that kind of thing, and decided she could cope and find some kind of respectable work. Elizabeth would freak out entirely and either die from lack of shopping or determine to either marry up or become a rich man's mistress. It amazed her, how different she and her sisters were. Sometimes she wondered if maybe she had been left at the Elliott doorstep, as a baby, because apart from blonde hair and abnormally well-developed calf muscles, she was nothing like them at all.

"Like I told you, there's a certain element of society that, while we tend to avoid them in general, can at times be useful when we are in what is best described as a _predicament_."

"I hate when you talk like that," Anne said. "When you talk like that, I want to hit you with a large, heavy, leather-bound copy of _Pride & Prejudice_."

"Yes, well, that's the best I could come up with and shut up, somebody's coming."

The two women were in Los Angeles, far from their mutual comfort zones for sure, and Anne had become more and more bewildered and frightened when Lily had told her what they were going to try to do. Lily had pointed out that since Harry's deal with Spencer Hawes had not been particularly _legal_, they could not go into strictly legal avenues for assistance. Lily had consulted with Mike, who had consulted a friend of his – a reformed criminal - who had connections with certain people and through them he had made contact with another element of what Mike had referred to as the 'Los Angeles demimonde', which made Anne start shaking and need a glass of water…with lots of alcohol mixed with it.

A man was indeed shuffling toward them, and he looked like death served on a cracker. His mustache was dirty and had clearly been used to strain his lunchtime soup. His gray hair was disheveled, and he was dragging one leg slightly behind him as he made his way toward them. He was wearing dirty clothes, and was using a cane to remain upright. Anne noted that his blue eyes had a sparkle of mischief about them, however, and she raised her eyebrows, wondering.

"Are you Mr Lee?" Lily asked him.

"Uh? Naw…you girls got any quarters?"

"No, sir, we do not," Anne said. She tried to imagine what he would use quarters to buy. Those sugar stick-on tattoos kids got out of vending machines?

"No money at all?" he asked again, showing admirable persistence considering he was barely able to stay on his feet.

"I'm sorry. I could…get you a sandwich if you like…" Anne said, feeling stupid. She never gave money to panhandlers, yet whenever she offered them food, they acted insulted.

"Hm. N'thanks." He wavered a little. "Betcha got problems, though, huh? Lots of 'em?"

"Quite a few, actually," Lily said, raising an eyebrow at Anne, who was flummoxed.

He looked around the roadhouse. A few bar patrons were playing pool, while others were nursing their sorrows at the bar, hunched over their glasses like dogs ready to fight for their favorite bones. Finally, to Anne's horror, he slid into a chair across from her and gestured to Lily. "What sort of problems do you have?" he asked Lily.

"Well, I'm not really the one with the problems. Well, only if you count a boyfriend who won't commit, and that's only because of his clinging shrew of a mother. No, it's Anne here who has the really, really big problems." Lily took a sip of her 'sweet tea' and winced. It tasted like sweetened swamp water.

"Oh, dear God," Anne said, sitting back in her chair, appalled. The man grinned at her, shaking his head.

"Don't worry, ma'am. Perfectly harmless, I am."

She noted his Irish brogue, and on studying him more closely, she realized that his mustache was fake. The bad lighting in the bar had only made it look…disgusting. Rather like a big fat caterpillar had crawled onto his upper lip and died.

"Tell me about your troubles, _colleen_. I'm sure they're entirely solvable."

She sighed. "Listen, I don't even know you…"

He nodded toward a man at the end of the bar. "I was told you needed some…security?" he asked, leaning forward on his elbows. "Are we talking actual physical security, or just a sense thereof? We provide the former. According to my late, sainted mother, a true sense of security only exists when one is right with God, and I'm afraid we can't provide that for you, though our mechanic does have a rather surprising spiritual bent. My mother wanted me to be a priest, poor woman, but I don't really look good in black."

"We…?" Anne gasped. "You're…"

"We always do a thorough background check. You have no connections to the military or law enforcement, correct?"

"N-none whatsoever…" Anne managed.

"Good. Then you've just hired the A-Team." He grinned at her. "Colonel Hannibal Smith. Man at the bar…" He gestured, and the man ambled over. "Lieutenant Templeton Peck."

"At your service," the tall, handsome man grinned at her, flashing perfect white teeth and shook her hand, then Lily's, who preened and grinned at him. He sat down and leaned forward. "Folks call me Face, by the way."

"Why?" Anne asked, and Hannibal looked at him and started snickering.

"You can't tell?" the Colonel asked, gesturing at Face, who glared at him. He smiled and lit a cigar, taking a couple of puffs.

She studied Face again and finally shrugged, gesturing helplessly, and Face looked slightly exasperated. Lily sat back in her chair and joined Hannibal in snickering. Anne, embarrassed for herself as much as for Face, could only shrug again. It took a moment for her to finally catch on, and she put her hands on the table. "Oh, it's…yes, the…the face. Right. Of course."

"Right under the buzzer there, Anne!" Lily laughed. "Tell us…when can you be in Texas?"

"In about a week," Hannibal said. He dug a rather battered-looking notepad out of his pocket and wrote something down, tapping the page with his pen for a moment before returning his cool blue gaze to Anne again. "We'll have to collect the other two members of our team and tie up a loose end or two. Courtville, Texas, right?"

"Yes."

His eyebrow lifted, as if the name of the town sounded familiar. "Very good." He slapped the notebook shut and smiled at them. "We look forward to working with you, Miss Elliott."

* * *

><p>"I can't take that medicine," Murdock told Face, even as he turned green and took another dash to the bathroom. Face sighed and sat down on the bed, listening sadly as his friend retched violently and went into another spasm of coughing. Murdock had the flu, and his choices of medications were slim due to the meds he was already on. Thus, he had to suffer from most of the worst symptoms of the illness, and the poor man's stomach had never been particularly strong to begin with, even though his cooking said otherwise.<p>

"We got a job in Texas, boy-o," Face called. "Far from the California heat."

"Mfghfhgph…" Murdock answered. He staggered out of the bathroom, hollow-eyed, and collapsed onto the bed, having long ago shed his clothes except for his boxer shorts. He pulled the blankets up around himself, shuddered, and closed his eyes.

"Hannibal figures it's a good place to go, while things are getting so hot around here, Lynch-wise."

"Nothing like Lynchiness to ruin a pleasant California fall."

"Yeah. Murdock, you're gonna have to fly us out there. I'm off to get us a plane…we gotta be there by next Tuesday."

"I could be dead by then, but I'll give it a manful try if I'm still alive." He began coughing, and Face went into the bathroom to get the trashcan and a cool washcloth. He put the can by the bed and spread the cloth across Murdock's fevered forehead. He kindly stroked the pilot's hair, knowing he was suffering terribly now. Colds and flu hit Murdock hard, and no amount of the captain declaring he could indeed walk across a room without fainting could make such a statement true. When he was sick, he was _sick_.

"C'mon, man. You gotta get well quick, all right?"

"Ffftttt…"

"B.A. won't get on a plane flown by a sick man, Murdock."

One blood-shot green eye opened and gave Face a baleful flare, and the conman snorted.

"B.A. won't get on a plane flown by Chuck friggin' Jaeger, either," Murdock reminded him.

"Well, we've all got our crosses to bear, and you're a hell of a lot better pilot than Chuck friggin' Jaegar, but either way, you've got to get well, okay, 'cause this time it's your turn to catch B.A. when he keels over after we give him that shot. I'll be back to check on you in a coupla hours. Take your aspirin, drink lots of water, and keep warm."

"Yeah, whatever."

Face patted Murdock's shoulder, and the pilot mumbled something in what sounded a little like Italian before burrowing down into the mattress, pulling the blanket and sheet over his head and succumbing to the sleep he so desperately needed.

* * *

><p>"I'm so glad you managed to get home," Ben Murdock said, pulling his son into a tight embrace. "Victoria will be so happy to see you. Good God…what time is it?"<p>

"Er…three-thirty, I think," James answered. "I had to take three red-eyes and pull rank about a dozen times just to get here tonight…uh, this morning. But no way was I missing her tenth birthday."

Eve, sleepy-eyed and smiling warmly, hugged her stepson and stepped back to look at him. He was still wearing his uniform, and even though it was a bit wrinkled from having been squeezed into plane seats that were far too small for his frame, he looked dashing. Hollow-eyed and weary, but dashing. "James, Victoria is going to be so excited! We've got a big party planned for her tonight. Everybody's coming, of course."

"Right. Good." He grabbed up his duffelbag and started up the stairs, eager to get to his old, familiar bedroom. He went into the room at the end of the long hallway and closed the door quietly behind him, hoping he hadn't awakened his siblings, and tossed the bag onto the bed. He quickly removed his uniform and hung it up on the hanger on the door – Eve always had one hanging there, ready for any of his brief visits home – and took a few moments to brush it off.

He kicked off his overly-tight shoes, removed his socks and sat down on the bed, breathing deeply. The house felt and smelled the same – of hundreds of good meals and laughter, his young siblings' grubby good cheer and his parents' unconditional, accepting love. No matter where he went, and no matter what he saw or had to do, there would always be home to think about and long for, where the worst thing that might happen to him would be Alan beating him at Horse.

He wasn't getting any younger, he knew, but at least that gave him an excuse to take a breather sometimes. At twenty-six, he was already noting some things were slowing down. His hip, ruined for good in Cambodia, got awfully painful when it was cold. His eyesight was still superb, though, or he wouldn't be allowed to fly any more. What he would do if he couldn't fly, he didn't know. Sell hairbrushes door-to-door?

Down to his shorts and Army T-shirt, he shoved the bag off his bed and climbed in, pulling the cool sheets over his body and staring up at the ceiling. His last mission, into China, had been rough and had taxed him physically and mentally. He had been translating, for the most part, but they had had some sport out there, too. Pretty nasty folks, terrorists, no matter what labels they wore. That bunch out there had been particularly vicious, and distracting them long enough to deliver a final, fatal blow had been rough.

His reward for the mission was in his duffelbag – a pair of handmade leather boots with a big 'W' on them – there wasn't much else he could be given for a covert op, after all, aside from a new medal and a couple of extra bars. Training had kicked in, muscle memory was perfect, the bomb had landed precisely where it was aimed, and a bunch of cold-blooded killers were all dead. Mission accomplished, even if the press never would know about it, at least until Oliver Stone started digging around, and even that bastard could see that a bunch of terrorists with a nuclear warhead could put a damper on _his _career of making crappy movies. The only problem was that he didn't wear boots, as they always hurt his feet no matter how well they were made, and he didn't know anybody whose name started with a W.

In spite of jetlag and almost no sleep, James was up at the crack of dawn and was sipping coffee when his baby sister came bouncing into the kitchen, red hair a mess and wearing pink pajamas. When she saw him, she skidded to a halt and stared at him for a moment, before launching herself at him, hugging him fiercely.

"Hey, Vicks, you need to brush your hair, kiddo. You look like you slept on your head."

"You came home! On my birthday!" she squealed happily, kissing his rough cheek.

"It's your birthday? Oh, well, shoot, I plumb forgot…" He rubbed his forehead. "And so here I am, with no presents for you or anything."

She pouted, and he snickered. She sat on his knee and hugged him again, not caring about presents. "I told Daddy I wanted a pony this year," she told him conspiratorially. "He said he'd think about it."

"Mm…a pony, huh? Well, that's a lot of responsibility for a little kid. Have you been taking riding lessons yet?"

"Twice a week!" she said excitedly. She scrambled down and went to the cabinets, where she extracted a box of sugary cereal. James got up and got the milk out for her and after preparing her a bowl and carrying it to the table, he sat down again and she sat on her knees in a chair beside him, noisily crunching her breakfast and challenging him to a game of Go Fish.

They played for a while, Victoria chattering away and James just listening, glad to be around someone so innocent and unspoiled by the cold world out there. He wondered how many battles he'd been in so far, and how many men he had had to kill in the line of duty. His nightmares were getting worse lately, and sometimes – to his distress and growing fear – he was starting to hear voices sometimes. Nothing seemed to soothe him any more. Even now, sitting here with Victoria and listening to her piping voice, he felt unsettled and nervous.

Eve showed up next, yawning, and she ate a muffin and drank coffee while Victoria asked her what kinds of presents she was getting tonight. Her mother was evasive, however, and began preparing breakfast for the other men in her life. Matthew, the youngest Murdock boy at twelve, came scooting in and looked surprised and pleased to see his older brother. Alan and David staggered in next, neither being morning people, and calmly accepted James's presence at the breakfast table. Ben came down, already dressed for the work that had to be done outside, and phlegmatically ate his eggs and pancakes while Vicky chattered happily. James stared in wonder at his family – they were so _normal_ it was almost scary.

Victoria began telling James who all would be coming to her birthday party. "Since I'm ten today, I get to have ten friends come!" she said excitedly. "So Mama let me pick five friends from school and five friends from church. Alan's friend Anne is coming, too, to help with herding all the kittens, which I don't understand, and…"

James raised his eyes to look warily at Alan, who was plowing through a second stack of pancakes and seemed uninterested in his sister's talk.

"So you're still datin' Anne Elliott?" he asked his brother.

"We're not really dating any more. We're just friends," Alan shrugged between mouthfuls of thick pancake.

"You…uh…broke up, huh?"

"I guess that's the word," Alan answered in his usual quiet, unflappable way. "Last year, she told me that she just wanted to be friends and nothing more, and since we were never anything more than friends to begin with, that's all we are now. Pretty simple. She's cool, though."

If Alan Murdock was upset about the ending of his adolescent relationship with Anne, he didn't show it. James swallowed and took a quick sip of coffee.

"She's such a lovely, sweet girl," Eve said, from her place in front of the rangetop, where she was making more pancakes. "Always so helpful and kind. She's just like her mother. You remember Charlotte Elliott, don't you, James?"

"Yes…uh…yeah, I do." Barely. She had been a tall, willowy blonde with a calm, quiet personality and a steely resolve about her.

"It was so terrible when she died. The cancer just ate away at her, and ever since then…well, I hate to call Harry Elliott a fool, but…"

"I'll call him that," Ben said, shuffling his newspaper. "Free of charge. The man spends like the bloody government, and just like the government, on things that are completely worthless. It's a wonder he didn't finance the refurbishing of the childhood home of Lawrence Welk and open it as a museum."

"Ben!" Eve scolded, laughing, but she didn't look like she disagreed. "Anyway, she's coming for the party, too, to help with the kids. A pack of ten ten-year old girls…that's a lot of emotion for one house, so I know she'll be a major help."

"I plan on hiding somewhere," Matthew said. "Ten little girls…" He shuddered, but smiled affectionately at his baby sister just the same.

"Me too," said David, shaking his head, but he too adored his baby sister and he demonstrated that by tugging at her loose red hair. Victoria giggled and poked him in the belly.

"You'll do no such thing," Eve said firmly. "And I know Anne will keep them all firmly in hand."

"She's a good, sensible girl," Ben noted. "Sixteen years old and probably has more sense in her left little toe than her father or sisters do in all three bodies combined."

James took a deep breath. His brothers' idea of hiding during this party had definite merit. He tried to force his mind away from the images and sensations of her – her impossibly soft lips and sweet mouth, and the hard crest of her aroused breast against his hand. _Jesus, what the hell is wrong with you?_ How many nights, in the past year, had he struggled to not think about her, knowing he was a total pervert for even saying her name out loud when he was alone, for just a tiny bit of comfort? He had put himself through the toughest, most punishing ops he could sign up for, as a means of penance for even thinking about her.

He had no idea he was holding his coffee cup so tightly, because suddenly it broke in his hand. Thankfully, the coffee wasn't overly warm, but it spilled out everywhere, and everyone at the table jumped, startled. James shot to his feet and insisted on cleaning up after himself, apologizing for the mess. He allowed Eve to inspect his hands for cuts, and after it was determined that he was uninjured and the mess was cleared away, he made his excuses and fled.

* * *

><p>Ten excited ten-year old girls was, indeed, a sight to behold. Even though they were for the most part on their best – or next-to-best – behavior, their collective energy had risen to the point that they could have supplied electricity to Courtville and many surrounding communities. James had given up on their names, and occasionally even wondered if in fact there were only ten of them, besides Victoria, because they all ran so fast. They moved in a little herd from one part of the house to another, and finally outside to the pool, where Victoria's party would actually be held ("It'll be easier to clean up – I can just turn on the hose and wash everything and everybody down, if required," Eve had told him at lunchtime), followed at all times by a diligent trio of teenaged boys who had to admit they were having fun teasing them all.<p>

With their parents gone, the girls had initially gathered in a little, quivering pack in the front yard, and James sat down on the front porch, sipping an ice-cold Coke and watching them. They all sniffed each other for a moment, and finally called a play and took off running around to the back, to inspect the pool before going inside. Ben, a patient and generally calm man, had finally fled to his office until time for the party. Alan, David and Matthew were roped into supervising activities and being _nice_ even if it killed them, and James was put in charge of soothing tiny egos and tending to any injuries.

He kept glancing toward the door. Alan, flush with triumph over having obtained his drivers' license, had been dispatched at four o'clock to go pick up Anne, and James was thrown into double-duty of herding the kittens. He wasn't sure how he would behave with her around, though he was determined to keep his distance, as he'd promised last year. Under no circumstances would he be alone in a room with her, or speak with her beyond polite honorifics.

One little girl, her name lost in the fog of James's worried mind, came sobbing to him, a cut on her arm. "I fell down!" she whimpered.

"Oh, yeah, well, let's get the suture kit and fix it up, eh?" he said kindly, and went with her to the kitchen to find the First Aid kit. He cleaned the scratch, distracting her by asking her about her favorite cartoons, and soon had the tears dried and the wound covered with a waterproof Tinker Bell Band-Aid. She dashed away, back into the fray, and he went out of the kitchen and into the living room, checking around for bodies or blood splatter, and heard Alan's voice in the front foyer.

"I don't understand why you're actin' so nervous all of a sudden. What, you're afraid of Murdocks now?"

"No, of course not, I just…"

Anne froze when she saw him standing there, and she immediately stuffed her hands in her pockets, her expression wary. "Oh, hello Captain Murdock."

"James," he reminded her, eyeing Alan.

"Um…right. Hi."

"It's good to see you again. How's your daddy and them?"

"Good. They're all good."

"Elizabeth buy up Neiman-Marcus yet?" he asked.

"No, but she made a considerable dent in the store's springwear supply last weekend."

It was as if all the air had been sucked out of the room, and James felt lightheaded. No, no, this can't be happening! Alan, oblivious, went into the kitchen to get a bottle of Coke, and the teenager went out onto the deck overlooking the pool. Before James could really react, he and Anne were alone in the living room, staring at each other.

"Thank you for the birthday card," she said softly, though there was an edge to her voice that indicated she wasn't entirely pleased with it.

"You're welcome."

"You sent it from…"

"Moscow."

"What on earth were you doing in Moscow?"

"Collecting Muscovite ducks. National Geographic…study." He winced.

She gave him a sidelong glance, and her eyebrow went up. He shrugged helplessly. "Just some…work. Army work. Classified."

"I thought we weren't at odds with Russia any more."

"The nation as a whole, no. Some Russians of certain…security risks, yes."

"Right."

She looked lovely. She was wearing a simple white T-shirt, under which was some kind of camisol-type thing to prevent over-speculation, and a pair of knee-length light blue Capri pants. Her hair was tied back into a pair of French braids that ended in cute little pigtails, and she glowed with excellent health and youth. She had grown an inch or two, as well, and her figure was a lot more _emphatic_ now. The promise of last year was coming to fruition, and James felt a terrible headache behind his eyes, from doing all he could to not stare at her chest. _She is still only sixteen, you damned fool!_

He turned away and went into the kitchen.

"Want somethin' to drink?" he called to her as she walked into the kitchen.

"Oh…um…water, please."

He grabbed a bottle out of the 'fridge and turned around to almost bump into her. She stepped back, startled, her eyes wide. He handed it to her, and her fingers brushed his as she took it. "Thank you," she said softly.

"Anne…I wanted…I mean, I should…I need to say…"

Eve came in then, and paused for a split second before she smiled warmly at Anne. "Oh, hello, sweetie, are you ready to leap into a whirling bundle of energy outside?"

"Yes, ma'am. I'm ready." She cast a significant look at James and left. He leaned back against the cool metal of the refrigerator and rubbed his eyes. This was going to be a sweet day in hell.

* * *

><p>Victoria did indeed get her pony from Ben – a small, nicely-built and suitably gentle Morab named Lentenor. The girl squealed with delight at the sight of the sturdy dark bay gelding, and James figured his gift would be a let-down in comparison, but she cooed over the hand-painted Russian nesting dolls he gave her. She was enthralled as he undid them all and lined them up on the table for her to study. "What do the letters say?" she said, fingering the gold Kyrillic words on the largest of the painted wooden dolls.<p>

It was good to have connections. The job in Moscow had involved shutting down a Russian arms-trading operation, and one of the major financiers had been a former mover and shaker in the Communist party and a 'collector' of Russian art, some of which had once belonged to the Tsars. The sweep through the man's dacha outside the Russian capital had yielded some major artistic finds, including three Rubens and a couple of Picassos, but Murdock had spotted the nesting dolls and immediately thought of his sister. A couple of strings had been pulled here, a bit of blackmail had been used there, and voila, his baby sister had an antique that had belonged to a daughter of Tsar Paul. He figured it would be appreciated far more by Victoria than by some dreary museum.

James's Russian wasn't too great, though, whether reading or speaking it – he could get by, but only barely, and still had trouble with anything besides threats and ordering off a menu. He peered at the letters, deciphering as best he could, and still couldn't make sense of it. Finally, he shrugged. "It says 'Made in Taiwan'."

Victoria hugged him and began putting the doll back together again, until at last it was back to one doll. Anne, seated at the table, helped her put the fragile item back into its box, where it would remain until it could be placed on a high shelf in her bedroom. James's gift had been the last, and the others had been gathered up by the boys and taken inside. The girls all went inside to change into their bathing suits, and after a while they came rushing back out and jumped into the pool (wearing waterwings at Eve's insistence) and were soon doing a great deal of healthy splashing and screaming. Cake and ice cream were all over the table by the pool, and Lentenor was starting to eat some of Eve's petunias and had to be taken away to the stables, but a good time was being had by all.

It was almost dusk by the time the party wrapped up. The girls were cajoled out the pool, dried off, dressed and checked over for any signs of damage before their parents arrived to collect them. Victoria was plunked down at the table, where she was required to write out ten proper thank you cards to her friends – Eve was very strict about that – and James went back out to the pool to sit down and watch the light fade. He knew that tomorrow, he would be asked to help his sister saddle her pony and would lead her around the ring, but he didn't that. It would probably be pretty relaxing.

He didn't recall dozing off, but suddenly he opened his eyes and Anne was standing there, hands on her hips, staring at him.

"Jesus!" He stood up so fast he had brief bout of dizziness. He wavered, and she stepped closer.

"How dare you!"

"Wh-what?"

"How dare you just tell me go away and then not even speak to me before you left! Then you have the _nerve_ to send me a _birthday card_!"

"I…" He had never seen Anne angry before, and was trying desperately to find some way to make her _not_ angry, however exciting it was to see her looking so ticked off. Her smoke-colored eyes were narrowed and almost shooting off sparks in the semi-darkness, and for a sixteen-year old he outweighed by about a fifty pounds, she was about as unnerving as a Russian arms dealer with a rocket launcher. She had claws and thorns, definitely, along with all that sweet innocence that had put him into a persistent fever all year.

"That was extremely cruel of you. It was humiliating!"

"How the hell was it humiliating?" he snapped back, regaining his bearings a little. "You were fifteen. I'm sure you got over it quickly enough…"

"I'll never get over yo-…I mean, _that_!" she hissed. "I never got over it! You have the gall to kiss me and then…"

The French doors opened and Eve stepped out onto the deck. "Anne? Sweetie, your father just called. He'd like for you to come on home."

"Oh…yes, of course, Mrs. Murdock. Right. I'll…be right there, ma'am."

Eve leaned against the deck railing, her face obscured in the fading light of dusk. She apparently didn't see James, who had ducked back, almost under the deck.

"Unfortunately, Alan isn't allowed to drive in the dark yet. James can drive you home. Have you seen him?"

"Seen…oh…um…no, ma'am."

"I'll go find him," Eve nodded and went into the house. James dropped his head into his hand and rubbed his temples, exhaling wearily. Anne stared at him for several moments, her chest rising and falling as she breathed, and he had to clench his fists to keep from moving back to her and touching her.

"I'm sorry if I embarrassed you," he finally said.

"We'll talk about it on the way home!" she snapped, and went up the stairs and back inside, shutting the door quietly. He went to the basement door and tried to open it, but it was locked. His shoulders slumped and he galloped around through the rock garden, vaulted over the low picket fence and was strolling casually around to the front yard when Eve poked her head out the front door and yelled for him.

"What?" he asked mildly, glancing around his stepmother to see Anne standing there. She rolled her eyes.

"Drive safe and behave yourself, James," Eve said, and that caused both of them to stare at her, expressions of surprise and distress on their faces. The older woman made no comment on their respective reactions and let Anne pass through the doorway before shutting it.

He dug in his pockets until he found the keys his father's big old Cadillac, called 'the boat' by his sons and on loan to James due to the recent death of his truck, and gestured toward the long steel-gray vehicle. "Let's go."

* * *

><p>More later. I needed to put a brief stopper on this segment because it was already ten pages long in Word and driving me <em>crazy<em>!


	6. Take the Gun, Leave the Cannoli

OK, moving things along. Trying to keep this all within the realms of decency. I mean, she's _sixteen_.

* * *

><p>"Okay, we have to discuss this rationally. I'll be me, and for funsies, you be you. If it gets too pointed or we run out of ideas, we'll change roles, though I don't think I can pitch my voice as high as yours."<p>

He heard her sigh, indicating she was exasperated with him, and saw her cross her arms. He was driving quickly, hoping that that would cut this conversation short, but when he saw a deer on the side of the road, he knew he'd better slow down before he didn't see one in the _middle_ of the road. He had no fear of death, but he'd never take her with him into that unknown country. He slowed down and took a deep breath.

"Personally, James, I think you've behaved like a coward," she said, before he could launch into his prepared speech.

That did it. He jerked the car off the road and pulled into a shallow ditch. The dry weather of late ensured that there would be no mud to try and spin out of, so he parked and turned to glare at her. "Did you actually just call me a _coward_?" he asked her slowly as he carefully held his temper in check.

Anne lifted her chin and gave him that cool Elliott look that her family was famous for. But the Murdocks were famous for their determination, and he glared right back at her. "Yes, a coward. A chicken!"

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he asked, not caring if his language was just a tad ripe for a sixteen year old.

"I mean, you kissed me and then you ran away."

"I was _deployed_," he snapped back.

"Right."

"I was!" he said angrily. Yet for all his anger, he didn't feel nervous. It was the strangest thing in the world to him – for all his not having a full grasp of how to deal with this situation, he was calm in her presence. Well, as calm as a man could be when parked on the side of a road with a beautiful young woman who regularly starred in his dreams. He ran a hand through his hair.

"You promised you'd write to me," she said softly, looking down at her hands.

"I'm sorry…"

"You could have said something in that card besides just 'Happy Birthday'," she informed him, giving him an angry look.

"Well, then, next time I'll write something else," he said helplessly. "And…and what if someone had seen it? What if your father had seen you get a birthday card and _a letter_ from a guy ten years her senior and in the service? He'd've called the cops, Anne."

"Will you?"

"Will I what?"

"Write to me."

"Yes. I will."

"Good."

"Right." He slumped back in the seat, and rubbed his temples again, completely at a loss.

"Why don't you…"

"What?"

"Well, you…you said you would stay away from me, and…I mean, I know I'm just sixteen and you've probably been with lots of gorgeous, sophisticated women from all over the world…" She blushed pink and began wringing her hands.

"I have?" James pondered. Not very many women had tumbled into his bed over the years, and he was never one to boast of his conquests. Discretion and being respectful toward the ladies in question were two very important things to James, even in his younger, willing-to-skinny-dip-in-broad-daylight days. He was no lady-killer, and had never been anything approaching promiscuous.

"Haven't you?" she asked him softly.

"No. Not very many at all. I mean, I'm not a prude, but…" he shrugged. And how the hell was he going to tell her that he hadn't been with a single woman since the day she had surprised him at the river? He turned off the car lights and ran a shaky hand through his hair. He didn't want those women. Never would again, but that didn't make this any less wrong. "I don't sleep around, Anne. Not all men do. A lot do…but not all men. Not me, anyway."

"Oh," she said, in a small voice.

"Anne…you don't…I mean, maybe you do, but…you're sixteen. You should be…be going out with guys your own age."

"They're _boring_," she finally said, looking at him again. "I went on a date last November, will Joey Tate – you know him?" At his nod and displeased expression, she went on. "He was just so…_dull_. A nice, earnest, unimaginative _boy_. He was _callow_."

"All the better," he nodded, relieved to know she wasn't interested in that turkey-necked little twerp.

She sighed and had she been spoiled or narcissistic, she would have pouted. Instead, she appeared to recognize the danger of the situation, and the risks to her reputation and good health. He started the engine and pulled back onto the road. He hit the horn when two does, pursued by a buck, galloped across the road.

"Swamp deer are in full force tonight," he said.

"It's rut season," she said.

"Tell me about it."

* * *

><p>He drove her home, neither saying anything else until they pulled up in front of the gates. Anne let him punch the numbers into the box and the gates swung open. He let the car coast down the slight incline, leaving the lights off, and pulled into the drive, shutting the engine off completely.<p>

"James, wait a minute…I want you to see something."

"Anne…" he said, shaking his head.

"Come on! It's in the stables. Please?" She jumped out of the car, closing the door very quietly, and turned back to look at him, gesturing excitedly. His shoulders slumped, but he figured he had disappointed her enough as it was and owed her a couple of minutes of indulgence. Then he would keep away from her, even if it killed him. Which it would probably would.

He followed her across the back garden, over the little footbridge that stretched over the spring-fed creek, and across the gravel pathway to the stables and determinedly kept his hands in his pockets as he approached where she was standing. She was stroking the nose of a pretty little bright chestnut mare. "Isn't she gorgeous?"

"Yeah, really pretty," he nodded.

"My uncle got her for me, for my sixteenth birthday. Most girls want a car, but I wanted her. I was afraid to ask how much she cost."

"I don't suspect you ever ask for a lot," he commented.

"No, not really. I try not to, all things considered. But…I've always loved riding and, even though it's a total cliché, I love horses. She's an Anglo-Arab…her name is Juliet – her dam was a granddaughter of Secretariat – can you believe that?" Anne smiled. "Daddy only keeps two other riding horses aside from her – his own and Elizabeth's, and she never rides that poor horse. He's had to sell all the others, lately…"

He patted the mare's neck. "I doubt Neiman-Marcus would let her ride a horse into the building. I understand they had a dress code or something. Hard to find a tie big enough for a horse."

Anne laughed. "No, probably not." She scratched the mare's nose. "I'm so glad you came home…and that you're safe."

"I am too."

"Was it terrible, where you were?"

"Not much better or worse than any other place I've been."

"You've been lots of places?"

"All over the damned world," he muttered. "Sorry. Yes. Lots of places."

"Have you been to Paris, and Milan? London?"

"Yep. Plus Darfur and Nairobi and Mogadishu and…"

He didn't get a chance to finish his statement, because Anne's mouth was softly pressed against his, and nothing else in the world mattered any more. She had pushed him against the door of the stall next door to Juliet's, and her arms were wreathed around his neck, and her lips were parting and her tongue teased him until his knees were weak. He slowly slipped his arms around her trim waist and pulled her against him, letting her feel his arousal. She pulled back, looking up at him with those bewitching smoke-colored eyes of hers and he had to struggle to regain anything resembling self-control.

"You shouldn't do that, Anne," he told her at last.

"I wanted to."

"Wanting…wanting to do something and…that _something_ being the right thing to do aren't always compatible," he warned her softly. "In fact, they rarely are."

When she moved back into his arms, however, he didn't resist. His arms slipped back around her as their mouths made love again, and when he pulled her up, rubbing her against him, she murmured softly and ran her fingers through his hair. He trailed kisses along her delicate jaw and over her neck as his hand moved up between their bodies, to touch and gently squeeze her breast, rubbing his thumb over the crest, and she whispered his name. James reached back and struggled to get the stall door open, finally figuring it out even though it was behind him. He undid the latch and slid it open, and he pulled her into the loose box with him.

She was unafraid, and sat down in the straw, her eyes wide with wonder and excitement. He sat down beside her, struggling to get a grip on himself. Anne touched his chest, her fingers shyly undoing a button on his shirt, then another. "No, Anne…" He caught her fingers and flattened them against his skin.

"You get to touch me, but I can't touch you?"

"Listen, you're sixteen…"

"I can make my own decisions!"

"No, you can't!" he said, and shook her, albeit gently. "Listen to me. You've got your whole life ahead of you, and I've got some problems that are just starting to get bigger and bigger and I'm not…_not_ going to ruin your life with them, all right?"

Tears welled in her eyes, and he felt like the biggest jerk on the planet. He got to his feet, and brushed straw off his jeans. Anne remained on the pile of straw, surrendering to her tears at last. James didn't know what to do – a crying woman, particularly a woman crying because of _him_, was a phenomenon on which he had no point of reference on how to cope. He finally took her hand and gently pulled her back to her feet. The tears trailing down her cheeks made him feel like something was tearing in his chest, and he finally embraced her, pulling her to him and cradling her against him while she sobbed, stroking her hair. "Listen…listen, when you're older…"

"When…when I'm older?" she hiccupped and looked up at him.

"When you're older, and if…if things are…uh…still the same…"

"How much older?" she asked, wiping her tears away and drawing in a shaky breath.

"When you're eighteen. When you're eighteen, I'll…we'll discuss the matter and…uh…" He ran his hands through his hair.

"Really? Eighteen?"

"Yes, dammit!"

She pondered for a moment. "What if you find someone else?" she asked him.

"You actually think I could?"

* * *

><p>Murdock almost rolled off the bed, which made Face sit up and stare at his friend, wondering. The conman was eating breakfast and watching <em>Days of Our Lives<em>, and Murdock had been thrashing around and muttering for quite a while now.

"Hey, man, you okay?" Face asked him. Murdock sat up and pulled the blankets up over his lap, hoping that his friend hadn't noticed his current _condition_. He closed his eyes and tried to think about anything that wasn't arousing. Okay, here we go, he thought…rotten tomatoes. Piles of government-related paperwork. Cocoanut curry tampanade, which was adored by B.A. but made Murdock want to throw up. Being shot at…or actually, being shot, period, which was very unsexy, even if the resulting scars got some women excited…no, that didn't work too well. Try again. Face's Aqua Velva cologne, which could fell a gorilla at ten paces and thus had not been worn in years, after Murdock's dramatic fake seizures.

Once his condition was alleviated somewhat, Murdock scrambled out of bed and went into the bathroom, and stood staring at himself in the mirror. How long had he and Anne stood there in the stables, kissing while Juliet and two other horses watched? He could remember every touch, every caress, every soft sigh, every little gasp and murmur and whisper. He could still taste the sweetness of her mouth, and feel the perfection of her breasts against his hands. As guilty as he felt about it later, he certainly hadn't had many qualms about finally slipping his hand under her shirt and doing a little exploring. As much as his mind told him he was wrong in touching her, the rest of his anatomy had been _thrilled_, and she certainly hadn't seemed offended. In fact, she had said she liked the way he touched…

Damn, damn, damn…

He turned on the shower, set the water at ice cold, and jumped in, residual flu symptoms be damned. Afterward, he shaved and brushed his teeth, cleansing away the last of his illness and staring at himself in the mirror again, taking in laugh lines and a scar above his left eye, from when he'd hit his head while diving off that dock at that lake in Germany. She had moved on with her life, from what he had heard. He had tried to keep track of her progress in the fashion world, after all, and had even seen a wedding dress she had designed in some twenty-pound bridal magazine (read in a psych ward rec-room, and to his disappointment, another patient had cut the dress out and used it to dress his paper dolls). He suspected she had found someone else by now, and good for her. She deserved all the happiness life could offer her, and the best way for her to obtain that was to stay far, far away from James Daniel Murdock.

Dressed and feeling empty, he went back out into the hotel room and grabbed his hat and aviator shades, then shrugged into his bomber jacket. "We ready to hit the road, Facey?" he asked.

Face, finished with his breakfast and sipping the last of his coffee, grinned. "Yeah, definitely. Oh, and you should see our new client. A really hot little chica, I must say."

"Don't say it around El Diablo," Murdock reminded him.

"Eh, well…" Face shrugged. "Anyway, the job seems easy. Security detail, do some digging on a local crook causing trouble for a family, get enough on him to turn him in and ease their troubles, blah-dee-blah, help the downtrodden and the overwhelmed, all over in a few weeks, I suspect. Hannibal and B.A. are meeting us at the airport at six tonight. You're ready?"

"Yeah. Let's go. I'm packed. I'm takin' the gun and leavin' the cannoli."


	7. Harpies

There's some flashbacks here that go back to other times. I just hope they make sense.

* * *

><p>Murdock hated the Lear jet Face had scammed.<p>

It kept sputtering, for one thing, and the yoke kept trying to pull to starboard, which _really_ irritated him, as it meant that there would be no autopilot over Colorado tonight, as they would only end up in Mexico. So he had to stay awake and alert, which was much different than B.A., who was snoring like a sailor after a weekend bender in Frisco. Hannibal was also sleeping – the man could actually sleep anywhere, on any surface, which also annoyed Murdock. Face was awake, and seated in the co-pilot's chair, reading an old _National Geographic_.

"Hey, you remember that scam we did on those Saudi princes?" Face asked him.

"I never talked about golf so much in my life, and considering I know next to nothing about the game, it was a toughie."

"They didn't seem to appreciate your terms for the 'sweetest game'," Peck rolled his eyes.

"_Idrib al kurah, taarid al-kura_," Murdock snickered. He adjusted the yoke again, frowning as he righted the plane– it had been heading toward the New Mexico border again.

"What's that mean again?"

"'Hit ball, chase ball'. Imagine, six Saudi princes trying to play through a miniature golf course."

"Right." Face snickered. "Remember that one dude who attacked the windmill?"

"Where are we going exactly, in Texas?" Murdock asked, seeing an alarm light coming on and turning off before it could start blinking and send Face into a frenzied panic. He hadn't been back to his home state in almost four years, and that had just been a very brief stopover in Austin, where he had had lunch with his sister, who had just enrolled at UT. He had inspected her dorm room, threatened the life of a young man who had been hanging around her, and went through an entire half-gallon of Blue Bell Neapolitan ice cream in less than an hour.

"I forget," Face mumbled, running a hand through his hair. "How can you fly these things? This whole thing…" he gestured at the complicated instrument panel. "I'll never get what half of them mean."

"Takes training," Murdock shrugged. "And instinct. Meanwhile, I'll never get your knack for picking up girls in bars and making them believe you're related to royalty. I believe last time, you were a nephew of the Duke of Wellington." His eyes flicked over all the buttons and dials and went through all the required corrections. He would apparently be landing at an airfield near Houston and Hannibal would take over on directions from there. They would be renting a van and Murdock had every intention of sleeping all the way to wherever they were going, even if that freaked B.A. out entirely, a as day-time sleeping Murdock usually meant wide-awake at night Murdock.

"You've been acting weird lately," Face commented, turning a page of the magazine and contemplating a story of the Yangtze River and the wildlife thereof. "Weirder than usual, I mean. In that you've been really quiet."

"Been sick," Murdock said shortly.

"Well, even when you're sick, you're playing with sock puppets and talking to the towel rack. Nowadays, you've been acting…I dunno…" Face frowned, trying to think of the right term, and finally decided that between friends, there was no point in being delicate. "Okay, you've been acting _horny_."

Murdock was so startled he jerked the yoke and caused the plane to swerve. He righted it quickly and glanced back to see B.A. had only slumped against the window and Hannibal's head tipped back, his mouth opening and the snore getting louder. "What?"

"Well, this afternoon, you were talkin' in your sleep and you weren't talking to the towel rack, that's for sure, and you had a…uh…you know…" Face cleared his throat.

Murdock rubbed his face and tried to think. "Okay, fine. Fine. So the crazy guy can't think about women sometimes?"

"I didn't say that!" Face said, offended. "And I happen to know of several women who think about _you_, and you ignore them completely. Remember that little nurse who treated Hannibal's gunshot wound last winter? It's a wonder she didn't jump you."

Murdock paled. "I didn't like her, for that very reason. And…and…well, I do think about women sometimes. I even have a past, if you can believe it. Had a few…few…uh…rolls in the rubber room over the years, too."

"Okay, really don't need to know about _that_."

"There was a French photographer named Colette…" Murdock nodded. She had been the last woman he'd slept with, and that was _twelve freaking years ago_. He shook his head – God, no wonder he was horny lately. "And…and…uh…a…" He frowned. No way in hell was he going to tell Face about_ Anne_. Never. He loved the man like a brother, but Face would demand details and _ages_ and then it would explanations and more guilt and grief and frustration, and in the end Murdock would end up going into a full-blown anxiety attack. "A contortionist. Circus performer…"

"Contortionist, huh?" Face raised an eyebrow. "How long ago was this?"

"Few…er…years."

"What, you've been celibate for nine years?" Face grinned.

"A guy can do that, you know," Murdock muttered. "Maybe I just…don't want 'em. Besides…the…meds…" He swallowed. The meds had, years ago, had unfortunate side effects for him, but an understanding psychiatrist at some facility in Arizona had finally come up with a combination that actually helped with some of his issues without playing hell with his equipment. That had been the only shrink he'd ever had who didn't think a person with mental health issues couldn't have a love life, and the guy hadn't had any kind of agenda, either.

Face knew not to go _there_ and nodded, returning to the magazine. The Yangtze River was not interesting to him any more and he put it away. He stretched his legs and settled in for the final leg of the flight – maybe about twenty minutes. "Hell, I couldn't live without it, you know," Face said. "I mean…well…maybe I could. I dunno. Usually, though…Temp's gotta have it!" He grinned at Murdock, who snickered.

"Yes, and yet you still refuse to get that tattoo of the number for the Center for Disease Control on your wrist. Would be pretty helpful, in my opinion."

* * *

><p>Anne fingered the silk material and frowned at the pattern. It was too <em>loud<em>, and she was about to tell the designer just that when she saw Lily waving at her from the door. She shook her head, and the man glared at her. Yesterday, he had brought in a model wearing his latest creation, a blouse with a bunch of weird flowers all around the collar, that made the poor woman look like she was being attacked by hummingbirds. They were cute little birds in and of themselves, but on a blouse, they were just too weird and she had rejected the idea wholesale, bluntly calling it _tacky_. If he was ticked off with her then, he looked livid now.

"What?" she asked, waving Zev the Hissyfitter away and stepping out into the hall. "Listen, if Ginella cancels, I want you to put out a contract on her."

Lily shook her head. "It's not that."

"Well, what is it?" Her cellphone started vibrating. She had a full calendar of things to do that day, including picking up her dry cleaning, collecting lunch, making a dozen phone calls, arranging a flight to Milan, and selecting materials for a 'small' (aka huge and terrifying) new line Féminité was putting out in the fall. Anne had been working at the fashion house for almost four years now, and was developing a reputation for her flawless taste and determination to create clothes that were not only beautiful and sexy, but modest. So far, she had several clients in town who consulted her on all their clothes, and insisted only she help them select their wardrobes for each season. Those clients were leading to other interested clients, and now, she had her own office and was becoming a force to be reckoned with. Ironic, she thought, considering she didn't have a lot of backbone.

"Um…" Lily cast about and finally just blurted out the news. "I know this guy, in Iraq, and he told me that there was an Army Ranger taken prisoner by some insurgents…well, murdering psychotic bastards, to be politically incorrect…and he told me the Ranger's name and…um…"

Anne lifted her gaze and stared at Lily. "What? _What_?"

"It was Captain Murdock."

Anne drew in her breath and her hands started shaking. She rejected the call coming in on her cellphone and pressed her fingers to her forehead. She turned away from Lily and went to her desk, gesturing to Zev to _leave_, which he did immediately, eyes wide and eager to go spread the gossip about this development. Anne was notorious for her total lack of a love life, after all, and for her to get news about a soldier in Iraq was pretty major.

"Listen, I know a guy from a few years ago…really gorgeous guy, actually…who is also in the Army and in Iraq, and though I have no idea if they're in the same unit, I'll make a call or two and see what I can find out…"

"Lily, if he…" Anne couldn't even say the word. If James had been killed, she didn't know what she would do. Pull out her hair, sit in ashes and wear sackcloth, and weep until she was nothing but a dried out husk, she figured.

"I'll go make some calls. I'll find out. Just…just try to work, okay, and keep your mind off it…" Lily backed out of the room, an apologetic expression on her face and Anne sat down at her desk. She was still for several minutes, until suddenly she jumped to her feet and went to the set of cabinets in the corner of her office. She opened them and dug around for several minutes until she finally found the file she had kept there since coming to New York. She dragged it out and began flipping through pages until she found the most recent article.

He had been in Egypt, the last time she had heard anything on him, and he had been flying soldiers in to rescue some hostages in Cairo, and had flown them all back alive and well, with several terrorists dead in a pile of rubble and a bullet lodged in his shoulderblade. To keep a prospective on where he was and what he was doing, Anne had made marks on a map of the Middle East, noting each place she knew he had been. It was the same map she had kept track of his travels during those two heady, frustrating years of their relationship.

She carried the file and the book of maps back to her desk and put them down, spreading them out and tracing her fingers over the horrible hellholes where he had been, risking his life for his country for crappy pay. She brushed her tears away and looked up, folding her hands.

"Please, God…please, keep him safe and well. Please…even if I never see him again, please…let him be happy…_please_…" She looked up, across to the wonderful view she had of Manhattan and burst into tears, weeping shamelessly onto the maps.

* * *

><p>Anne gasped and sat up in the chair, looking around in bewilderment, not sure where she was. She had fallen asleep in the old wing chair in front of the fireplace at the Musgroves' ranch house, and wasn't surprised to find a blanket had been tucked around her. She blinked away the tears the bad dream and the painful memories it had brought back, and stood up, neatly folding the throw and putting it in the chair opposite. The A-Team was due to arrive this afternoon, at her sister Marie's house, a neutral location.<p>

Lily had at least found out that James had actually escaped from his captors. Her source in Iraq had only said that he had been injured 'somewhat' and had to be hospitalized for a few days, but was otherwise in fair shape and would recover fully. He had otherwise been evasive, as per Army regulation, but at least Anne could breath again. He was alive, he was going to be well, and he had forgotten all about her, which was for the best for them both.

She had arrived at the Musgrove ranch – the M2 – the night before, and had been greeted enthusiastically by Charlie's parents and his sisters. Supper had been a merry affair, as she recalled through a slight fog of a bit too much champagne. Charlie's sisters, Louisa and Henrietta, were bouncy, fun-loving girls, both only just out of their teens, and made no secret of the fact that they preferred Anne over Marie.

The two Musgrove girls tumbled into the room, giggling over some private joke, and Anne smiled at them. No matter how miserable she felt, she couldn't stay that way around those two. "Oh, Anne! I see you managed to stagger downstairs for breakfast!" Louisa laughed.

"Yes, I did finally manage it, and then I decided on a nap."

"Mom and Dad are still in bed?"

"Out cold, last I knew."

"Well, are you going with us to Charlie's? Those men are supposed to be here at lunchtime."

"Yes, of course."

"Of course she will, silly," Henrietta told Louisa. "She's the one who hired them, isn't she?"

"Are you still sure this is a good idea?" Louisa asked, looking anxious. "I mean, Lily said they were _wanted_…"

"Falsely accused," Anne pointed out. She smoothed her hair and tried to settle her rattled nerves. It was a pretty dangerous idea, and over the past week she had gone over all the details again and again, knowing that if the CIA or the military did find out they were here, it wouldn't be just them being dragged away to prison, but she and her family and friends would be in what Elizabeth would call 'heap big trouble' for aiding and abetting federal fugitives. She followed the two girls into the vast kitchen and sat down at the breakfast bar.

Anne got a banana and poured herself a glass of orange juice, needing something to eat to settle her quavering stomach. She heard the front door open and voices out in the hallway, and her brow furrowed when she heard a strangely familiar voice.

"I don't know why you had to freak out like that, B.A."

"I heard a siren!"

"It was an ambulance!"

"Well, still, it nearly gave me a heart attack! I mean, for God's sake, Murdock, I don't even know where the hell I am!"

She turned on the stool and her breath caught in her throat.

James Murdock was standing there, hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket, staring back at her with wide eyes. The two Musgrove girls were enthusiastically introducing themselves to the men – fresh meat, to the two of them – and James gave them both stiff smiles, but his gaze never left her. She stepped down and struggled to contain herself, holding her hands in front, her knuckles turning white as she gripped so hard. This couldn't be happening. It just couldn't be.

Colonel Smith stepped forward and held out his hand to Anne, who finally managed to separate her hands and took his. "It's…it's so nice to see you again, Colonel Smith," she said softly. "L-Lieutenant Peck," she said, taking Face's hand in turn. "I…I have some questions I need to ask of you…"

"Oh, uh, this Sergeant Baracus. Bosco…but we all call him B.A," Face gestured to the large black man at his side.

Anne, completely discombobulated, shook B.A.'s hand as well. James hadn't moved a muscle yet, and she could barely remember to breath under his scrutiny. She hazarded one glance at him and saw something cold glittering in his green eyes. She swallowed, and barely heard Face introduce her to the pilot.

"And this is Captain James Murdock," Face said, gesturing to James.

"Right," she nodded. She didn't hold out her hand to him. "I…like I said, I have to ask you all some…some questions. I have some trepidations about this arrangement…"

"Trepidations, huh?" James said, his voice sharp.

She finally met his gaze and flinched. "Yes, I have a few concerns…"

"And are these your own concerns, or did somebody else bring them up for you?"

Hannibal and Face looked at each other, bewildered.

"They are entirely my own, Captain Murdock," she answered him, her heart starting to pound. She felt light-headed, and wanted to sit down.

"Really. I guess I should be amused," he snapped.

"Go ahead and be amused, Captain," she answered sharply. "And considering that…that you and your friends are wanted criminals that will be living in my home, I have every right to have some doubts…"

"Doubts!" He rocked back on his heels, laughing. "Maybe it's just a total lack of willpower instead. Maybe you let other people make up your mind for you...lead you about by your nose, huh?"

Anne's fists clenched. "Captain Murdock, I see no reason for you to come into this house and attack me because of your own _bruised ego!_"

"What the hell…?" B.A. said, looking at Hannibal in confusion. "Hey, miss, Crazy Man here don't have no ego!"

Murdock ignored B.A. and stepped closer to Anne, who held her ground, which made Hannibal's eyebrow lift in admiration. "If you actually think that I'm going to stay here and work for this…this unreliable, immature and selfish little _harpy_, Colonel, you are very, very mistaken! Knowing her, she'll prob'ly turn us in tomorrow...on somebody else's advice, too!"

"You bastard!" Anne shouted, and stunned everyone in the room by slapping Murdock right across the face. He only reeled a little, and stood still for a moment, glaring down at her, his green eyes glittering with rage, a red mark forming on his cheek. He suddenly turned on his heel and left, slamming the front door behind him. The Musgrove girls were too stunned to speak, and B.A. was shaking his head. Anne drew in a shaking breath, her eyes stinging.

"Excuse me," she finally said. "I'll…I'll be back in a…a few minutes. Please, Louisa, Henrietta, make them…them feel at home, if…if you…can." With that, she fled and rushed upstairs to her room.

Face looked back and forth between Hannibal and B.A., totally bewildered. "What the _hell_ was that?" he asked.

"They must have known each other," Hannibal said with a shrug. "You think our pilot doesn't have a past, Face?"

"And hated each other in the past, too!" Face exclaimed, horrified. He had never seen Murdock behave so rudely. Even when being mistreated, the Captain had always remained sweet natured and friendly, even if it was just a means of psychic escape. To see him viciously insult a young woman was completely out of character.

"Naw…" B.A. shook his head, catching Hannibal's knowing look. "Uh-uh, Faceman, it ain't nothin' like that."

"Oh, really? What was all that, then?"

Hannibal shook his head, smiling. "Gimme a break, Face. I still love the first woman who slapped me."


	8. Jetty

Anne slipped downstairs at some time after midnight, cursing her lack of courage at having not gone down to see to the comfort of her guests – it would have required another round with James, and she didn't believe she had the strength to endure it. They would be leaving in the morning, to return to Marie's house for the day, and then they would go to The Shallows in the afternoon and do something called 'recon' and start setting up for whatever strategy they would be using against Spencer Hawes.

Seeing James had brought up a pain unlike any she had ever known, and she wished to God she had handled it better. He had been cruel and cold, mocking her, bringing up her failings for all to see, and she hadn't exactly behaved much better. She supposed she would have to apologize to him, she thought, and almost immediately dismissed such an idea. He was going to have to apologize to _her_!

She went into the kitchen, switching on the light, and almost screamed when she saw him sitting at the kitchen table.

"James!"

"Anne." He was holding an empty beer bottle, and there was a dangerous glint in his eyes. She almost took a step back, but somehow managed to keep herself standing still, refusing to be cowed by him. He stood up slowly, a cold, frightening animal when angered, and she drew a shaky breath. "You look older," he said.

"So do you."

"I got a buncha wrinkles, I gotta admit," he nodded. "Earned 'em all the hard way, and some scars, too. You don't have any. 'Course, you never were one for the outdoors and sunshine, were you? Hothouse orchid, you always were, so no rough play, right? A proper lady never lets herself out of the shade, so no wrinkles. No saggin', either." His eyes dropped to her chest, and she felt her cheeks flame.

"I was never that way!" she snapped. "And you are being _cruel_, which is something I never thought I would ever say about you!"

He was standing close to her now, and she could smell his cologne. That scent brought back memories – of his touch and his kiss, and his arms around her waist. "And until you decided I wasn't good enough for you, I never thought I…" He paused, watching her tongue dart out to moisten her lips, and his anger seemed to fade. "Why? Why did you do that to me?"

"It was for the best!" she told him desperately. "And I never said you weren't good enough for me, and I never believed it!"

His eyes narrowed. "Oh, but your friend Lily did, didn't she? And you always listen to her, don't you?"

Tears stung her eyes, and he backed away from her. Anne had to resist the urge to hug herself, to fight away the chill she felt at his withdrawal. "She…she was only…only concerned. I was nineteen, James. Nineteen, and I hadn't even been out of Texas."

"What, you think I wouldn't have taken you out of Texas?" he asked, looking incredulous.

"That's not what I mean," she said softly. "I had…have…talent and ambition, and…and…"

"I was a mental case," he nodded. "Still am."

"James…"

"Crazy as a bedbug, right? Unstable, unreliable, irrational, unable to support a wife, anyway? At least not while I was locked up in the booby hatch!"

Tears stung her eyes again, and she looked down, unable to meet his eyes. He tossed the bottle into the trashcan.

"Well, I'll be the adult here and apologize for how I acted this morning," he told her, in a cold, formal voice. "I am _truly_ sorry, Miss Elliott."

She still couldn't look at him, but easily caught the mockery in his voice. "I'm sorry, too," she whispered.

"I'll heal," he said, gesturing to his still-red cheek. "I've been hurt far worse over the years, haven't I?"

Anne closed her eyes, and felt him come closer, sensing his energy and his heat again. She finally opened her eyes and looked up at him. His expression finally softened, and she clenched her fists to keep from reaching up to touch him. He hadn't shaved, and she knew his stubble would tickle her fingertips. "I know," she finally whispered. "James, I'm so sorry…"

He suddenly jerked away from her and stalked out of the room, leaving her alone and shivering. She dragged herself to a stool at the bar and sat down, her entire body shaking. How on earth was she supposed to get through this?

* * *

><p>"Well, well, well…Little Red Ridin' Hood is ridin' home in the rain now?"<p>

Anne couldn't keep from smiling, and brushed raindrops off her face. The rain shower had been unexpected, but she was enjoying herself – it was a lot like running through the sprinklers when she was a kid, and the rain was a wonderful blessing after the hot summer and dreary, humid days of late fall. Juliet was also apparently in a good mood, too, what with the cool weather, and kept dancing, pawing at a puddle and spraying James's pickup truck with muddy water.

"I didn't know you were back in town," she told him, dismounting and going around to his window. He was leaning out, looking at her.

"Blew in with the rainstorm," he shrugged. "At two in the morning. Dad and Eve were so excited they fell asleep."

"Thanks for bringing the rain with you!" she laughed. "It's been awfully dry these past few weeks."

A car went past, splashing through the mud puddles, and she tightened her grip on Juliet's reins. The mare only started grazing, unfazed. Anne pulled her head up, scolding her for staining her bit.

"Had your birthday, huh?" he asked her. Anne looked back at him and couldn't keep from blushing. Her birthday had come and gone a week before, and she had received a card postmarked from Alexandria, Egypt, the envelope stamped numerous times as it was forwarded from the Middle East to Texas. Anne had gotten a post office box of her own in Sweet Springs, and so far, neither her father nor Elizabeth knew about James's letters to her, much less the box. Now that she had a drivers' license and her own car, she had been able to collect his letters every week, and had answered each one faithfully.

"Yes," she said softly. "I'm eighteen now."

"Hm. Sorry I missed it." He drummed his fingers on the side of the truck door, thinking. "Get any nice gifts?"

"A very pretty little jade Foo dog from a gentleman in China," she said, smiling.

"He'll have to find you another one," he told her. "For good luck, you have to have two Foo dogs, facin' each other."

"Do I need good luck?"

He studied her for a moment, and it made Anne's heart start beating faster when his gaze moved from her face to her breasts and down to her middle. "With your looks? No. But I'd hate to see a Foo dog get lonesome."

"I named him Billy," she said, laughing softly.

He looked different to Anne – older, and a little ragged, and maybe a little thinner, but he seemed harder, and fitter – and mouthwateringly sexy. His hair was longer than what she suspected the Army found acceptable, and yet he clearly did a lot of things the Army didn't _officially_ condone, if she was reading between the lines of his letters correctly. People still whispered sometimes that he was with the CIA, and the rumors had given her a bit of concern. He certainly didn't look like a CIA agent – she always pictured them in black suits and black ties and black RayBans. Instead, he was wearing jeans, a T-shirt with a picture of Bugs Bunny on it, and battered old Chuck Taylors.

"Good name," he nodded. He looked at her horse. "I don't reckon you can hitch a ride and put that horse in the back, huh?"

"No, I'm afraid she wouldn't take too kindly to that kind of transport."

"Ah. Right."

"How long will you be home this time?" she asked him, lifting her gaze to watch Wally Parks' ancient Ford splash by.

"Few months. Into late April, I think."

"Really? How did you work that?"

"Eh…connections help, baby. That's my Advice for the Day. Have _connections_." He started the engine on the truck. "I'll see ya 'round…maybe out at the jetty or…someplace."

Anne swung back astride Juliet, and the mare bucked cheerfully before settling into a steady trot back toward The Shallows. Another car drove by and she jogged the mare home, thinking of the past year. His brief visits home had never been enough for her at all – keeping a romance secret was stressful for her, particularly since her father and sisters couldn't figure out why she wasn't dating anybody.

Nonetheless, she had enjoyed every moment she had alone with him. It was still frustrating, though – he never would take their kisses and caresses beyond just that, no matter how increasingly eager she was to take their relationship to _that_ level. They would usually meet at the Murdock family's property, where the jetty contained their two fishing boats. From there, they would hike through the woods, talking and getting to know each other. Anne had never talked so much to anyone, much less a man who would simply listen and only interrupt to offer measured advice and heated kisses.

She got home just as Marie and Charlie pulled into the drive in their Mercedes. Anne rolled her eyes when she saw her sister, wearing her usual Chanel outfit and overpriced shoes. Anne dismounted and greeted them both before taking Juliet to the barn to cool her out and give her a proper bath. It was suppertime by the time she was finished, but she wasn't interested in eating at home. She instead drove up to the river and pulled in at the Murdock boatslip, where she saw his truck. He was seated at the end of the dock, perched on a piling.

"Hi," she said softly as she approached him.

"Hey." He bent down and picked up a styrofoam cup. "Chocolate milkshake? I got us some burgers an' fries, too. I remembered, too – no pickles, no mustard."

She giggled. "I'd have to throw the pickles at you if you had left them on."

"I never saw nobody react that way to pickles before. I thought somethin' had bitten you." He gave her a wicked grin. "I was ready to suck the poison out of you."

"Oh, so that's what you were doing, later on," she said softly, moving into his arms and sighing happily as he kissed her. They had agreed on the terms of how things were to go until she turned eighteen – that no one was to know about their relationship, and that under no circumstances would things go beyond 'right heavy necking', as he had put it. He was still very reticent about carrying on a clandestine affair with a teenager, but if his mind had worries, his physical reaction to her was entirely the opposite, and Anne was starting to understand her power. She certainly understood his.

"I shouldn't have done that," he said, picking up the cup and urging her to sample the thick milkshake. He watched as she took a few delicate draws on the straw, and she sighed happily at the rush of thick milk and rich chocolate. James slowly twisted a curl of blonde hair around his finger and she kissed him, letting him taste the chocolate on her tongue.

"Yes, you should have," she whispered. She touched his cheek, rubbing her thumb over a small scar just below his right eye. He had gotten it somewhere in Africa, in a firefight he had been unwilling to describe at length. Anne wondered if the wives and lovers of warriors over the centuries had this problem – of worrying about their men and whether they would come home alive, and if so, if they would also trace their fingers along new scars and hope to soothe away the hurt. "I'm glad you did."

"We…we…uh…should eat, baby," he told her, but accepted another sweet kiss from her just the same.

She laughed and moved away from him. They sat down at the end of the dock and feasted on thick, greasy burgers and hand-cut fries, chatting easily and laughing at new stories he had to tell her – a French general falling into a pit after insulting 'war-mongering Americans' and becoming even more enraged when informed that the pit was the old latrine, and a UN General who kept forgetting what country he was in while giving a speech at some officers' mess ("For a little while there, we thought maybe he was Tim Robbins!") in Bahrain. Anne listened, fascinated, as he told of exotic lands far away, and taught her more French, Spanish, Italian and German phrases that would be useful for her in the fashion trade.

It was dark when he invited her to climb aboard one of the fishing boats and sail to the dam. They finally stretched out and looked up at the sky, the clouds having finally separated to reveal a thick deep blue blanket covered with stars.

"See that one up there, baby?" he said, pointing at one. "Fifth one from that little cluster yonder. See it?"

"Mmm…" Her head was resting on his chest, and she smiled as she listened to his heartbeat. "Yes, I see it."

"That's your star. Anne's star. Can't remember what they actually call it. Never was into astronomy."

"Do you have one?"

"Pick one out."

She pondered the faraway lights and finally found one. "That one. Three, four, five, six stars to the right of the moon. See it?"

"Yep."

"That's yours."

"Well chosen."

"Thank you, kind sir." She nuzzled his neck, and soon they were kissing again, his hands slowly sliding up from her waist to her breasts, slowly molding them as he moved over her. When he lifted his head to look down at her, she smiled and touched his cheek.

"Anne…"

"Yes?"

He shook his head. "I just like sayin' your name."

"Oh," she blushed and raked her teeth over her bottom lip.

"I say it to myself sometimes, y'know? When I'm alone. You know how it is – you don't have much privacy, in the Army. Buncha guys all around, listenin' to everything you say, tryin' to read what you're writin' to your girl back home. I'd say your name when I was alone in a bird, waitin' for a buncha grunts to climb in after a mission gone to hell, or when I was doin' recon or…whatever."

"I say your name sometimes, too," she whispered. "When I'm alone…and I talk to Juliet about you."

"You tell your horse about me?"

"Yes," she laughed. "I can't tell anybody else, y'know."

"Right."

"Have you…told anybody about…us?"

"No. Maybe I should get a horse."

* * *

><p>Anne watched the three men read over all of Harry's contract with Spencer Hawes, and Face was the first to start shaking his head. She figured one of them would express total incredulity over such a foolish deal. "That's a lot of cash to throw away," he told her.<p>

"Yes. He didn't consult any of us, and now Spencer is calling in the marker, as he calls it, and Daddy has nothing to repay him with."

"Isn't there any way this place can make money?" Hannibal asked, looking out the window at the wide fields of The Shallows.

"It's a historical property," she pointed out. "It's on the National Register already, so nothing can really be touched or changed without a lot of red tape, but I don't doubt that Spencer would tear it down and build God knows what out here."

Face looked around, and she heard him mutter 'casino', a word that nearly made her retch. He caught her stricken expression and grinned, indicating he was only teasing.

"All right, so there's a few possibilities. There's the bed and breakfast idea from Lily, which I think is a good one," Hannibal pointed out. "There's also those tours and the whole historical aspect – a kind of Williamsburg thing, with people re-enacting life on a plantation."

"Including the chains and the beatings," B.A. muttered from his chair by the window.

"Our family never owned slaves," Anne told him.

"Oh."

She heard a noise and turned to see James standing in the doorway, leaning against the frame, his eyes on her. She paled and stood up, which made three other three men get up as well. Hannibal almost looked like he was about to salute her, but she only smiled politely at them all as she left, avoiding making any contact with the querulous pilot as she passed him.

"Captain," Hannibal said, nodding to Murdock. "We need to have a little talk."

"Yeah, man, what the hell is goin' on with you and Anne?" Face asked him. "I've never seen you act that way. Ever."

Murdock exhaled slowly, and he caught Hannibal's raised eyebrow. He couldn't make a hasty retreat this time. "We had…a…uh…"

"Affair?" Hannibal asked.

"It never got to that point," Murdock muttered. He went to the window and stared out at the dry fields, wishing to God it would rain.

"So there's a…history?" Face asked, still looking bewildered. "You never told me about it!"

"Was it really your business?" Murdock turned back to look at him. "The answer to that question, by the way, is _no_. It's not. It's my past, my business…well, our business…mine and Anne's."

"God, I hate it when he uses proper grammar," B.A. muttered.

"When was this? A couple years ago?" Face asked. "But that doesn't make sense. She was in New York, I know, and we haven't been to New York in a while…"

"It wasn't in New York," Murdock said, rubbing the back of his neck and looking uneasy.

"So…let's see," Face began tapping off years on his fingers. "She's, what, thirty?"

"Twenty-eight."

"And you're thirty-eight, so there's a ten-year age difference here. She's from around here, and so are you, and you've been with us for eight years now, and if you knew her before Mexico, then it would…would be…" Face's eyes widened. "She was _eighteen_?"

Murdock turned away and stared out the window.

"Eighteen…and younger? Seventeen? Jesus, Murdock…sixteen, then?"

Murdock's shoulders sagged, and Face's eyes widened with shock.

"_Fifteen_?"

"Face, shut up, will you?" Hannibal snapped.

"I…it ended when she was nineteen. We never…we never…" Murdock still couldn't turn to face them all, but he glanced back and caught a a brief look of astonishment on Hannibal's face. "We never did. Never, I swear to God, we didn't."

"Captain, it's all right," Hannibal said, recovering quickly. "Well, maybe not all right, exactly. I mean, if I had been her father and had found out she was seeing an older man, I would have gone looking for the shotgun. But…"

"But what?" Face yelped. "My God, Hannibal…not even I've gone after freaking _jailbait_!"

Murdock whirled around and glared at Face, and Hannibal saw murder in the pilot's eyes. He knew that look – it was time to stop things from getting out of hand or lots of antique furniture would be destroyed and Face would probably be bleeding from several orifices. Murdock was efficient, to say the least, when properly riled, and Hannibal wondered yet again what exactly was contained in that 'classified' portion of Murdock's personnel file. The Colonel stepped between the two men, his back to Face, and made eye contact with B.A., who stepped behind Murdock, ready to restrain him when required.

"Don't you talk that way about her," Murdock said, his teeth clenched. "It was never like that! Never!"

Face could see how Hannibal and B.A. were positioning themselves, and took the signal. It was time to back down. He looked over Hannibal's shoulder at Murdock and saw the pain, anger and guilt in his eyes, and immediately felt like a jerk. "Damn it, H.M., I'm sorry. I…hey, I wasn't there…and I know you're a good guy."

"No, you weren't there, and yes, I am a good guy…or I try to be, and that's why I never slept with her!" Murdock snapped at him, his anger and stress growing. "I would never have…not with a…it never…dammit…I may be crazy, but I am not a freakin' _pervert_!"

"James, stand down." He turned to look at Face. "Listen. We have a job to do here. Anne Elliott is our employer, and we will _all_ behave accordingly." He turned to gesture to Murdock, whose eyes were still blazing with anger, but at least his aggressive stance had relaxed a little. "Whatever is happening or did happen or _didn't_ happen between James and Anne is their business and I would also suggest that _we_," he gestured between himself, Face and B.A., "do not intervene or interfere or make our _employer_ uncomfortable. Got it?"

Face nodded. Hannibal looked at B.A., who shrugged. He turned back to look at Murdock, who nodded as well. Hannibal clasped Murdock's shoulder, then affectionately ruffled his hair.

"It's all going to be fine, Captain. Just fine."

Murdock sighed and rubbed his temples. He wished he could believe that.


	9. Not Fade Away

"All right, so here's the first step," Hannibal was saying, leaning forward at the glass-topped table and consulting his grubby old notebook. "I think that for now, B.A. will take up residence at The Shallows, and tomorrow we'll set up the cameras and comm. lines, and Face and I will stay here. Murdock, I think it would be best if you stayed here for a while, too. At this point, we don't really want Spencer Hawes to know we're even in town."

They were at the Murdock family farm, sitting on the deck overlooking the pool. Alan and Matthew had both greeted their brother in their usual phlegmatic style, though they were both friendly and accepting toward his friends, and after hearing what was going on, they agreed to keep their yaps shut. Eve was in Dallas, but was expected to arrive home that night.

Murdock nodded from his position on the deck railings, where he was watching in astonishment as Alan's wife and year-old baby daughter were splashing the shallow end of the pool. He hadn't even known that Alan was _married_, much less the father of a child. Even more, Melissa was pregnant again and due just before Christmas, and the thought of a home and a family – and how unlikely that was for him - brought a lump to the pilot's throat. He hoped Alan knew how lucky he was.

Alan sat down on the rail beside Murdock and grinned at him. "I guess you missed the wedding invitation."

"Four years ago!" Murdock answered. "I don't always get my mail during firefights, anyhow. Good Lord, man…a wife and a baby. Last time I saw you, you were playin' the field, swearin' you wouldn't get married any time soon."

"Eh…" Alan shrugged. "Melissa came along not long after that and…well, she roped me and dragged me to the altar. It's been great, bein' married, I have to say. Three fine meals a day, nookie ever' night, and the prettiest baby girl east of the Pecos to boot. And Melissa's great – smartest woman I've ever met – she's got a degree in economics from UT, and…" The younger man actually blushed. "Hard to believe, but she's just nuts enough to live with me, and she likes being a wife and mom, and seems to really enjoy livin' here on the farm."

"Hey, at least your finances will always be good." Murdock rolled his eyes. "But…every night? When she's seven months pregnant?"

Alan just grinned again, a goofily happy expression on his face. Melissa, heavily pregnant but clearly an energetic and tough-minded woman to have married into the Murdock family, came up the steps. She handed little Catherine Murdock to Alan, who moved off the rail and snuggled his daughter before suddenly handing her to Murdock, who yelped in alarm. "Meet your uncle James, Kitty," he said.

"Her name is _Catherine_," Melissa said, shaking her head.

"Po-tay-to, po-tah-to," Alan snickered. Murdock held the wet baby away from him, and she rewarded him by giggling and kicking her chubby legs.

"Well, at least she looks like her mother. That's a relief," he finally said. Alan punched him on the arm, and Melissa laughed. "But…I see you forgot to put the old stem on the apple, huh?"

"Hey!" Alan objected.

"It's just that the Murdocks have always run high to boys," Murdock pointed out to his exasperated brother. "Victoria was the first girl born in our family in also a hundred years, and now you're lettin' down the side!"

Melissa gave him a warning look, and Murdock only grinned, enjoying teasing his brother and sister-in-law. "You should have seen him when she was born. Started crying like a beauty pageant winner," Melissa shook her head, smiling affectionately at her husband. "He barely even let me hold her the first few days."

"Love at first sight, huh?" Murdock grinned, handing the baby back to Melissa. He glanced over and saw his friends watching him, Face grinning from ear to ear. B.A. looked like he might leap out of his chair, to get to the baby, and Melissa finally handed her over. The big mechanic tickled Catherine's chin and cooed at her, and she squealed and tried to grab his nose.

Face rolled his eyes. B.A. was a sucker for kids, of any age, particularly babies. He, meanwhile, got nervous around children and pregnant women. When Charissa had even mentioned babies to him, one day a few months ago, he had nearly broken through a wall to get away, even though he had brought it up with her once, years before and caused _her_ to freak out and run away. Nowadays, their current situation could only be called an _impasse_. Hannibal was eyeing the baby but showed no sign of wanting to hold her, but Face knew the Colonel was a big softy around kids, too. Murdock…well, the pilot had a knack for dealing with them, maybe because in a way, he was a big kid himself.

Maybe not so much, Peck pondered. Considering his past affair with Anne, there was little reason to think now that the captain had no experience with the ladies, his declaration that the affair had never been consummated notwithstanding. He felt a swell of real sympathy for his friend when it came to Anne. Surely there was something he could do…but then remembered Hannibal's orders to not interfere. Well, Face thought, what the Colonel doesn't know won't hurt him.

Peck was pondering various angles when they heard the front door open. "That'll be Eve," Murdock told them, and got up, nervous about seeing his stepmother for the first time in four years. When she came out on the back porch and saw him, however, she showed no sign of anger or resentment. Instead, she threw her arms around his neck and hugged him, shedding tears of relief and joy at seeing him alive and well.

"Er…these are my friends…Colonel Hannibal Smith, Lieutenant Templeton Peck and Sergeant Bosco Baracus…"

She turned to smile at the other men, but her smile faded, which puzzled Murdock. "Yes, yes, I've read about you all."

Eve Murdock was fifty-one years old, but looked much younger, being blessed with creamy skin and dark hair that was only slightly touched with silver. The death of her husband, six years before, had initially left her bereft, which Murdock know all too well about, but by all accounts she had regained her good spirits. She continued to live at the farm, happy to help with the work and to babysit her granddaughter. She went into the kitchen to check on the pot roast she had already prepared that afternoon.

"Mom's always cooking," Alan explained. "Otherwise…I think she's a little lonely."

"Yeah…I know the feeling," Murdock nodded. "I mean…I mean, I like to cook a lot, too."

Alan raised his eyebrows, but made no comment. They all started inside, and Murdock glanced back to see Hannibal looking strangely pensive. When he caught Murdock's concerned look, the Colonel shook himself and trailed inside after them and was soon seated at the dining room table, feasting on the biggest pot roast dinner served west of the Mississippi in at least the past three days.

* * *

><p>With B.A. ensconced at The Shallows and Face and Hannibal already upstairs and bedded down for the night, Murdock was at loose ends. He was too restless to sleep, and too tired to go for a walk or even sit out on the deck. He didn't enjoy swimming in the pool, as chlorine did something awful to his eyes. So he sat in the living room, staring blankly at the TV, watching an episode of <em>Psych<em> and trying not to think about Anne.

That, however, was not possible. She still bewitched him, still sent his senses reeling, and instead of feeling angry at her any more, he just wanted to see her again, and to touch her. That, however, could lead to all kinds of complications. He didn't feel quite strong enough to cope with it all – maybe it was the leftover flu symptoms or maybe it was the fact that if he were alone with her, he'd drag her to bed. Either way, he was honest enough with himself to know that he was in a pretty vulnerable spot, and he certainly wasn't going to force himself on Anne. Particularly after he had been so cruel to her…and he knew he had to make amends for that, sooner or later.

He heard a noise upstairs, and the sound of a door opening and shutting, and figured someone was taking a late-night trip to the john. He stretched out on the couch, switched over to _How It's Made_ (great music!) and finally managed to let his mind loose, drifting into an exhausted sleep while he learned how goldfish flakes were made.

* * *

><p>Anne was seated at the register, knees crossed, and going over the day's sales slips. It was chilly outside, with freezing rain falling steadily outdoors. She wished yet again that she had just ridden Juliet into town and tied her in the garage out behind the store instead of driving her car to the edge of the 'No Car Zone' and walking the rest of the way. Last she had heard, there was even a slight chance of snow tonight, a rarity in East Texas for sure and one to cause headlines. She did not relish walking through the cold mud and sleet and then trying to drive in the nasty stuff.<p>

She couldn't keep from smiling, and shifting a little in her seat, when she recalled the past summer. She had sneaked out of her house numerous times to be with James. They would walk through the woods by the river, and went sailing in the little fishing boat up to the dam. They would go fishing in the dark, finding their respective stars, and when it got too hot – from the weather and from making out – they would jump in the river to cool down.

Absently, Anne twisted a curl of her hair around her fingers, and found the slightly shorter lock – he had snipped that little piece off one night, just before the first winter frost, and a few days later showed her that he had had the lock made into a tiny ring, which was too small for his finger but now hung on a chain around his neck. The significance of that ring was not lost on her. He had made her scream with laughter by telling her he was thinking about getting her name tattooed on his butt, but she had easily talked him out of that possible misadventure.

She knew she was in love with him - that could not be argued. She was in love, to the point of being distracted and elated all the time, and prone to staring off into space, thinking about him, feeling warm and tingly and giggly. The only problem was that he still was unwilling to make their relationship public knowledge. She was, after all, still only eighteen and he knew that some folks would think it entirely inappropriate. Thus, so far, they had never gone out on a proper 'date', so to speak. She was trying to keep her head about it all, but she wished she could tell someone. Not even her friend Lily knew about it, though she was starting to ask Anne some pointed questions.

Lily was two years Anne's senior, and clearly had a great deal more experience in the world. She was already a sophomore at Rice, and was already living with a guy off campus, which was something Anne could never have considered personally – she would happily sleep with James, for one thing, but just shacking up was not part of her plans. If she was going to live with a man, she wanted a ring on her finger and public knowledge of the event. Lily's questions about Anne's own love life were starting to make her a little uncomfortable: Who was she seeing? What did he do for a living? Did he have a job at all? _No job, no car, run fast, and run far_, was Lily's motto.

Anne couldn't answer those questions without the answers only bringing up more questions. Lily was clearly clued in to the fact that Anne's boyfriend was not somebody her own age, and that he was a local. Her friend hadn't gotten to the point of spying on her, or following her down to the river to see just who she was meeting, but her friend was connecting dots, that was sure.

"Anne! Anne, hellooooo!"

Lily was standing at the door, looking amused. Flustered, Anne dropped her pen and stared down at the sales slips as if she had never seen them before. "Oh…hi."

"Fantasizing about your lover?" Lily grinned.

"Very funny."

Lily giggled and went over to the discount racks. Anne finished tallying up the sales and was pleased to see that several of her own designs had actually sold that day, and at good prices. That meant a nice commission and more money to add to her savings account, which meant that more of tuition could be paid out of her own pocket and not from the modest trust her grandmother had left her. She swallowed – she still hadn't even chosen a college yet, and she had had offers from UT, LSU and NYU. All those acronyms, she thought. It was as if she was considering joining a club instead of continuing her education. Her SAT scores had been outstanding; she had maintained a 4.0 grade point average since freaking kindergarten, and she had been on the honor roll every semester, and was in the National Honors Society. If she intended to get into a good college with a top art and design program, she was going to have to work extremely hard.

James had pointed out, however, that all work and no play made Anne a dull girl. So she spent every spare moment she could with him, and he often helped her with homework, particularly mathematics. She laughed softly, remembering her geometry teacher, last spring, commenting that Anne's work had improved considerably lately. She had almost told him that she had a superb tutor. Right now, he was teaching her how to play chess, and last night, she had actually beaten him!

The doorbells rang and Anne glanced up to see James come in. He ran a hand through his wet hair, and she was startled to see _snowflakes_. When he saw her, he grinned at her, but she glanced at Lily, and his smile faded. Anne went around to greet him properly, as a store customer.

"Good evening, sir, and welcome to Miss Marnie's. Can I help you?"

"Uh…er…this isn't Duke's General Store?"

"No, sir, it is not."

"Duke sold beer, bait and ammo…an excellent combination, in my mind. Plus dirty books, Blue Bell ice cream, bumper stickers, and those little bug-eyed dolls you squeeze when you're stressed out…"

"We sell clothing, shoes and accessories, sir," Anne said, in a clipped, businesslike voice she had honed over the past two years of working for Miss Marnie.

"Accessories? Like…uh…floaters and the like?"

"No, sir. Jewelry, purses, scarves…"

"Oh. Right. Well, fish like shiny stuff. Lemme see your jewelry then, ma'am."

Anne rolled her eyes. "Well, let me show you our selection, sir."

He followed her to the jewelry counter and leaned over it, peering down at the various expensive items for sale. He studied the rings for several moments, chewing on his lip, and finally glanced up at her. In a soft voice, he asked her, "How ya doin', baby?"

"I'm good," she whispered back. It made her shiver when he called her 'baby'.

"How'd you biology test go?"

"Got an A," she nodded.

"Good."

"Are you interested in fishing lures alone or are you interested in…perhaps…something for your girlfriend?" she asked, raising her voice. "Or…uh…your wife?"

"Girlfriend," he nodded. "Ain't got a wife. If I had a wife, I wouldn't have no girlfriend, that's for damn sure."

Lily moved closer, intrigued and Anne wanted to strangle her friend. James glanced at Lily, sizing her up in a matter of seconds, before turning his attention back to Anne, who gave him her salesperson smile. "We have some lovely necklaces and rings, and this…"

"I'd like to buy a ring."

Anne's hands started shaking a little. "Oh."

"Somethin' pretty and classy, and a little understated. She ain't very ostentatious."

"Oh."

Lily was watching them, one eyebrow raised just a little. Anne ignored them and got out the ring display, setting it on the countertop and watching him as he perused them. He finally stopped at a little silver ring with a small diamond setting. "I like that one…but do you think she'd like it?"

"I….I'm not one to say," Anne answered, struggling to keep her voice calm.

"You're about her size, I think. Try it on and lemme see."

With trembling fingers, she took the ring off the roll and slipped it on her finger. It fit perfectly. He observed it for several moments, seeing how it caught the light and flashed. Lily peered at it too and looked at James, but he ignored her entirely.

"It looks…I mean, it's…it's beautiful. Very pretty." She took it off quickly and handed it to him. He closed his fist around it and shook it, as if it were a piece of popcorn, and finally held it up to the light, watching it sparkle.

"I'll take it. How much?"

"Three…three hundred…hundred dollars, sir."

"Okay." His eyes locked with hers, and Anne's heart started pounding. "Y'all do a military discount?"

"No…no, I'm sorry…sir."

"You really think she'd like this ring?" he asked her.

"Yes. Yes, she will. She will. Yes." Anne nodded, knowing her cheeks were crimson by now.

He pulled his wallet out and extracted three crisp one hundred dollar bills, and Anne rang up the sale, adding the tax. He added more bills and the exact coinage and handed the money to her. Lily watched this exchange in silence, but made no comment as Anne put the ring in a tiny velvet box and handed it to him. He put the box in his coat pocket. "Thank you, ma'am."

"Good luck," Lily said with a smile. He only glanced at her before turning his attention back to Anne, who was still staring at him, eyes wide with wonder and excitement. He gave her a sharp salute and left, the bells clanging behind him. As soon as he was out of sight, Lily turned back to face Anne. "You have _got_ to be kidding!"

* * *

><p>Anne woke with a start and sat up, looking around the room in alarm. She was back at Marie's house, and a thump downstairs indicated that her nephews, Henry and William, were up. Smiling to herself, she threw the blankets off and got up, straightening the bed and changing into jeans and a T-shirt, having nowhere in particular to go today. She went downstairs slowly, and spied the two boys playing a game on the laptop. When they saw her, however, they barreled into her, hugging her excitedly, begging her to go outside with them to play. "Mom's in the sunroom – she's got a headache."<p>

Whenever Marie didn't have a headache, or some other kind of ailment, Anne suspected Charlie marked it on the calendar. She promised the boys a game of hide and go seek, but decided to visit with her sister just the same.

Marie was indeed stretched out on the couch, a cool washcloth on her forehead.

"Oh, I see the prodigal daughter has come home at last," Marie said with a frown. "And very late last night."

Prodigal? In what way, Anne wondered. She worked ten hours a day, had next to no social life at all, and paid all her bills without complaining to anyone about it. "Yes, Marie. Back home from a life of debauchery."

Marie had, as far as Anne knew, never done a day of hard work in her life. She hadn't been able to help with the housekeeping back at home or in this house because she claimed she had a heart murmur. She couldn't groom and tend to her horse or help with the gardening or even wash the dishes because she had a spastic colon. She got weak and dizzy due to her tipped uterus, and lately, she had been diagnosed with a horseshoe kidney. Elizabeth at least would help with some of the housework when required, and didn't whine very much. She sniped instead, which was just as irritating.

"Well, I suppose you should be glad to be here...and I'm glad you're here, too," Marie said with a sigh. "I have not seen a soul all morning. Charlie's already out hunting turkey, and I understand he's invited some of your friends to come along."

"My…friends?" Anne swallowed.

"Yes, those four wanted fugitives you hired to help cope with Spencer Hawes." Marie gave her a disapproving look, but she had agreed to the whole plan just the same. "They'll be here shortly, or at least a couple of them will be, and I think they'll be bringing Alan and Matthew Murdock as well." Marie sniffed. "And meanwhile, I'll just sit here all by myself, with nothing to do. And what would I do if something were to happen? I'm so ill, I barely have the strength call for help!"

"I'm sorry to hear that," Anne said, feeling tired now herself. Marie finally hauled herself off the couch and went to the table, where some ham and fresh bread had been laid out. She poured herself some iced tea and sat down, sawing away at the ham until she had a few pieces to eat. Anne cut off a few pieces herself and ate quietly, half-listening to Marie complain about her husband, her children, and her in-laws.

"He never listens to me! Just says, 'Uh-huh' to everything I say. I could say I wanted to adopt a troop of monkeys and join the Weather Underground and he'd just say 'Uh-huh' and get his hunting rifle and go out and shoot something! And the children are twice as bad…Henry is constantly bringing in some slimy little creature he found in the creek or in one of the tanks, and William babbles on about rocks and arrowheads…they wear me down! And as for Charlie's parents…well! We're in need of some money of our own, you know, and they said they can't afford to loan us any!"

"Times are hard right now, Marie. Gas prices are up and only going to go higher, crops are being ruined by this drought, and Mr Musgrove had to lay off six of his hands already. He'll likely have to lay off more if there's no rain. A roll of hay costs sixty dollars now. When you've got as many beeves as he has, he has to cut corners and get by on the bare minimum – he can't even sell the cows now. Everybody is feeling the pinch from this drought, and there's no relief in sight."

Marie huffed. Anne touched her ring finger, and felt tears stinging her eyes. She jumped when the door opened and her nephews came tumbling in, followed by Hannibal, Face and James. The boys were excitedly chattering to the men – already fodder for unabashed hero worship – about their respective amphibians and arrowheads.

"Going shooting with Charlie, I see," Anne said, standing up.

"It's been a while since I've been hunting," Face said. "Okay, it's been more than a while. I've never been hunting. I'm an Ohio city boy. Never even carried a gun until I joined the Army."

"Remember, if it's brown and has a rack, it may be a deer, or it may be Mrs. Musgrove's old Lincoln – it has a ski rack on top," James said.

"Very funny," Face muttered. "And I think a brown Lincoln might require shooting, all things considered." The two boys were chattering, asking a million questions about the men and their adventures around the world, and Hannibal and Face finally left, the boys following them, and James remained behind for a moment. Marie, disgruntled about something else now, snatched up her shawl and left. Anne nervously straightened the pillows on the couch.

"Anne…"

"I'm sure you'll enjoy hunting. I know you were always a good shot."

He shrugged. "It's been a long time. I'll prob'ly miss…though it's usually easier to just walk up to a turkey and bonk him on the head. They're kinda stupid that way."

"Yes. It has been a while. Last time I knew of you going hunting was right here on this ranch, with Charlie and those two Yankees who came down here that...that summer. And turkeys are stupid."

"So were those Yankees. Kept swingin' their rifles around, and pointin' 'em at us. I dove for cover more than once, that's for sure."

"Is everything set up at The Shallows?"

"More or less. B.A. was last seen tangled up in a bunch of wires and making the walls weep with vicious cursing…he's gettin' it done, anyhow. "

She smiled softly, and he stepped closer to her. "Anne, I wanted to apologize. To…to really apologize. I had no call to jump on you like that. I was…surprised, I guess, and…and…uh…I'm sorry. Will you…uh…forgive me?"

"Yes. And I'm sorry I slapped you."

"You were sorely provoked," he nodded, and she caught a small spark of mischief in his eyes. Her heart swelled and started pounding again. Nine years and he still had the same effect on her.

"I shouldn't have lost my temper."

"You had every right to." He stepped a little closer. She didn't move, her entire body craving his touch. "I was a jackass."

Face came back in then. "Murdock, come on man. They've got dogs, for God's sake, and one of them jumped on me. These pants costs fifty bucks and they're _ruined_."

"Aw, hell, a bit of Tide'll clear that up, Faceyboy," James grinned.

"Tide? _Tide_? Oh, you're funny. Really, really funny. Hey, Anne, how's tricks?"

"My tricks are splendid, Lieutenant Peck. And yours?"

He grinned, brushing muddy dogprints off the front of his pants. "Not bad at all. C'mon, Murdock. We're goin' huntin'…Ranger style!"

James turned back to look at Anne, whose cheeks warmed. He finally grinned at her. "Well…if that's the case, don't expect to have much of a turkey left for supper tonight. Huntin' Ranger style usually means just a bloody turkey smear left on the ground."

"I can imagine," Anne smiled, feeling a great weight being lifted from her shoulders. Or at least most of the weight. He saluted her and left, bickering with Face in the hallway as they made their way out back. Anne went to the window and watched as the men and the two little boys made their way toward the woods between Charlie's property and his father's. She hugged herself a little, letting herself admire James's wide shoulders and confident swagger again.

Buddy Holly was right, she thought. It never does fade away.


	10. It Has a Dance!

The song and the dance are from _Moonlighting_. FYI.

* * *

><p>The 'guns' returned from the hunt flush with triumph and carrying two large turkeys. James had gotten the first, modestly declaring that he had actually frightened it to death by letting out a war whoop as the turkeys loped by. His loud shout had startled Face out of his reveries about Charissa, and he accidentally shot the other turkey. A loud, arm-waving argument had commenced, with both men having to restrain their use of old Anglo-Saxon terminology for the sake of the two children present, both of whom were left wondering why neither man capable of finishing a sentence. According to Charlie, a good time was had by all. They stomped into the mudroom, removing boots and coats, with Face still griping about his ruined pants.<p>

They were given hot coffee laced with whiskey to warm their chilled bones and everybody gathered in the dining room for the second biggest pot roast dinner west of the Mississippi River in the past four days and were soon sleepily telling war stories. Louisa and Henrietta, enraptured at the mere notion of three attractive men around the dining table, listened intently as the three houseguests told of running gun battles and explosions. Louisa, having developed a crush on James, got out a book about helicopters and showed him photos, asking him to point out the ones he had flown.

"All of them, pretty much," he nodded. "Including the older models. The Army had this notion of sending the seasoned pilots out for runs in choppers that frankly had the airworthiness of a Dell laptop, just to see if we were really serious about our business." He pushed his plate away, already thoroughly sick of pot roast. "Frankly, sometimes I think I would have done better doing traffic reports. 'Crazy Chopper James here, live in the sky over Los Angeles, and _lookee_, there goes Lindsay Lohan and Nick Nolte careening down the four-oh-five, paparazzi in hot pursuit while she drinks straight from a bottle of Jack and he lets his pit bull knock over their giant bag of cocaine while releasing the safety on his pistol…back to you at the studio, Brandi!'"

Everyone at the table laughed until tears were in their eyes. Mr and Mrs Musgrove, a friendly and outgoing couple who loved nothing more than plenty of company at their table, were delighted to have them in their home in spite of their fugitive status, and after dinner everyone slumped onto couches and chairs in the living room. Hannibal lit a cigar after observing Mr Musgrove doing the same, and they began discussing cigars and good port. Anne sat down on the window seat and looked out across the way, toward the lights of Charlie's house. Louisa sat down next to her, holding a cup of cocoa, and smiled at her. "I was wondering if I could talk to you about something."

"Of course."

"Well…it's about Marie. She keeps complaining about how Mama treats her, and particularly about how Mama tends to the boys. She says that Mama is too strict with them."

Anne looked across at Mrs Musgrove, who hardly looked capable of disciplining a tomato vine, much less two rambunctious little boys. "Really?"

"Yes. And Mama sometimes feels like the only way to keep them quiet is to give them cake and other sweets." Louise sipped her cocoa. "Of course, Mama only cares about the _cake_."

"I see."

"So if you could talk to Marie about it…she gets so wound up about things, and then acts like she's always ill, which I admit she might be, but if somebody's ill that much, you'd think they'd be dead by now, wouldn't they?"

Anne smiled into her coffee cup. "I'll speak to her." Louisa got up and went back to the couch, sitting down between Face and James.

The pilot jerked himself out of a pot roast-induced stupor and stood up. "I think I'll head off to bed," he said tiredly. "Scaring a turkey to death takes a lot out of a fellow."

Face, enjoying the attentions of Henrietta, watched his friend leave and suddenly got up. "Hey, H.M., I need to talk to you a minute…" He put his coffee cup down and went out into the hall. Anne sighed and settled back against the windowsill. Charlie tottered over and sat down beside her.

"What a day!" he said. "But I was wondering…could I talk to you a minute…about Marie?"

"Sure."

"She's always moaning about how sick she is, and while I admit she might be sick sometimes, she surely can't spend so much time in bed or on the couch, can she? It's not healthy. And then she blames me for not having anything to do. I ask her to come hunting with me…"

Anne had to close her eyes so that Charlie wouldn't see her roll them. Marie had described going hunting with Charlie once – that it had been very unpleasant and had resulted in William. 'Imagine! Sex, _outdoors_!' Apparently, Marie was the sort who believed sex only occurred indoors, with the lights off and only on special occasions. Anne looked toward the door and thought about those sweet evenings in James's arms. They had never gone all the way, so to speak, but a few times it had gotten pretty close, and there had been one night when he finally let her experience just a taste of what lovemaking could really be like.

"…not sure how much more of her constant complaining I can take. I've gotten to the point now of just saying 'Uh-huh' when she starts going on about how sick she is…Anne, are you all right?"

"Hm? Oh…oh, yes. I'm sorry. I'm just very tired. I think I'll head up to bed, too. I'll try and talk to Marie tomorrow."

"Thanks," Charlie said, sighing with relief. "I appreciate that, Anne. You know, we always enjoy it when you come back home. You do us all a lot of good, y'know. I suppose I should go on home." He got up and went to his mother, to ask if the boys could stay overnight.

* * *

><p>Hannibal was relieved to get away from the Musgrove house. He had had a good time hunting, and enjoyed Mr Musgrove's views on good wine and cigars, but he was eager to just get back to the Murdock farm and relax. He didn't like admitting that his bones ached after a long day of tromping around in the woods, or that he had a headache after drinking just a tad too much port. He decided that he would walk back to the house, which was just a mile away. He forgot, however, that a mile was a good distance to walk for a man in his mid-fifties, even if he was as fit as he'd been in his twenties. By the time he got back, he was exhausted, frost was forming on his eyelashes, and his shoes were covered with freezing mud.<p>

"Look at the mess you're making!" Eve scolded, and it took him a few minutes to drag his heart down from the light fixture above his head in the mudroom, she had surprised him so much.

"Oh…uh…yes. Sorry. I'll…er…clean it up!" He kicked his shoes off and shuffled wearily into the kitchen in his stocking feet. He grabbed a few paper towels and staggered back to the mudroom, where he began cleaning up. Eve, however, looked vaguely amused.

"Sorry I scared you. But it is interesting to see a man cleaning anything," she said with barely concealed smirk.

"I'm in the Army…or was. I clean lots of stuff. Or at least I did, before I got rank. Now I usually make other people clean things for me. Except women, of course – a woman tells me to clean something, I hop to it. I know the score – I'm not a complete idiot."

"Hm. I have trouble believing you're an idiot, Colonel Smith. You look like you could use some coffee and a hot water bottle, rather than a mop and apologies."

"Coffee down my throat, please, and water bottle at my feet." He finished cleaning the mud-streaked floor and threw the dirty paper towels in the trash, and stood there yawning. This job…it was more like a vacation, and try as he might, he couldn't help but wonder what it would be like to just retire. Go to ground, settle into a nice house along the river and raise chickens instead of hell.

Eve eyed him, noting his melancholy expression, and poured him a cup. He noted that she had a full pot brewing already. "Couldn't sleep tonight?"

"No, I couldn't. And you seem vaguely tipsy."

"Eh…I did drink a little too much. Mr Musgrove has a stock of port and good house wines…"

"Stay out of his dewberry wine," she warned. "It's put many a man under the table. My Ben finally declared that he wouldn't touch a potent potable in that house again as long as he lived, after he ended up naked in a tree." Eve laughed softly and poured him a cup. "Sorry, it's not Irish coffee." He started to take the cup, and she suddenly pulled it away. "In fact, considering you should sleep, maybe coffee's not a good idea."

They were standing a little too close by then – they both noticed, and pulled back, avoiding eye contact, and Eve's cheeks pinked prettily. Hannibal didn't know what to do, for the first time in a long time. This woman was Murdock's _stepmother_ for God's sake, and the mother of his half-siblings to boot. He decided to attribute it to having had too many drinks…but dear Lord, she was lovely. Warm and soft and kind, and a good cook to boot. Four things that he had been missing a lot in the past three decades, her stepson's legendary cooking skills notwithstanding.

"I'm going to sit up and watch _Casablanca_," she informed him softly.

"Oh. It's been a long time since I've see that one."

"There's a Bogie marathon on TV tonight," she said. "Want to join me?"

"Well, I can't guarantee I'll stay awake…"

She shrugged. "Then I guess you'll just have to sleep with me."

Their eyes met again, and for the first time in almost thirty years, Hannibal Smith blushed.

* * *

><p>Anne swished the wine around in her glass and took another sip. She had slipped into the butler's panty and found the bottle before deciding to go on upstairs and take a good hot bath. Hearing voices out on the back porch, she peeked out the door window and saw James and Face sitting there together, impervious to the cold, bickering and laughing about something. She sighed and went on upstairs, sipping dewberry wine as she went.<p>

It took a while for the water to get hot enough to suit her, and she finally undressed and slipped in, squeaking a little as she dunked under and let the fall chill slip away. She stayed under as long as she could and finally came back up, her head spinning from the combination of oxygen deprivation and alcohol. She was not a big drinker by any means, and only now vaguely recalled hearing tales of Mr Musgrove's dewberry wine – there were several children in Courtville that were the result of a few too many glasses of that stuff.

Nonetheless, she finished her glass, hiccupped cheerfully and managed somehow to get out of the tub without slipping and chipping a tooth. She staggered over to the chair where her bathrobe was hanging, and after a few spins and unsuccessful tries at getting her arms into the sleeves, she pulled it and bent down to dry her hair. That was a mistake – she lost her balance a bit and almost fell on her knees. "Okay, sit girl!" she said, and obeyed herself, giggling. She contemplated shaving her legs, but decided that a drunk woman and a razor were not the best of combinations. Instead, she got up and weaved out into the bedroom. She pondered the French doors that led out on to a small balcony from her room and finally decided to go out there and get some fresh air, to clear her head.

It took her a moment to remember how to open the doors, but she was finally successful and stepped outside. "Good grief, it's cold out here!" she said, and turned around. Unfortunately for her, the bottom of her bathrobe caught in the door as it pulled shut. She squeaked and tried to open the door…but it was locked. "Oh, shit." She tried the handle a couple of times, but to no avail.

What was she supposed to do now? She went to the edge of the balcony and looked down – it was right beside the back porch, and she could see Face and James still standing there, Face dragging on a cigarette and cursing Sir Walter Raleigh. James was berating him for smoking the damned things at all, and Face retorted that wine that strong needed a cigarette chaser. Neither man noticed her – as if either of them would look up expecting to see a rather sauced woman wearing only a bathrobe.

Face finally went inside, and Anne had to muster all her nerve to begin waving at him. He didn't notice her at first, so finally she grabbed hold of the wisteria vines that wrapped around the railings and shook them, the vines rattling like the bones of ancient mummies. "James!" she hissed. "James! Help me!"

He looked up at her, and she saw his mouth twitch in amusement.

"Well…what light through yonder window breaks? Why, 'tis Miss Anne, who ironically owns a horse named Juliet."

"Shut up and come help me get back inside!" she whispered.

"Eh?"

"Come help me get inside! I'm freezing!"

"What, you locked yourself out?"

"No. I thought it'd be fun to stand out here in nothing but my bathrobe and freeze to death!"

His eyebrow lifted and she sighed. Finally, he just shrugged and contemplated the wisteria vine and the lattice that reached almost to the balcony railing. He climbed over the porch railing, swung easily across to the vine, tested its strength against his weight, and began climbing up, using the lattice for balance but not putting his weight on it any more than necessary. She stepped away, and forgot that the robe was still stuck in the door, and it pulled open just as he reached the balcony and swung over it. For just a moment, he froze, staring at her.

"Well, there's nothin' like rescuin' a damsel in distress, I reckon," he told her at last, his gaze slowly taking in all of her. Anne, pink and shivering, tried to cover herself as best she could, snatching up the robe and moving closer to the door, fighting back into it. He watched her for a moment, and Anne had to admit she rather liked the idea of him enjoying the view, but he finally turned back to the door handle. Whistling under his breath, he patted his pockets. "Got a bobby pin?"

"In _what_?" she said through chattering teeth.

"You hair, maybe?"

"No!"

"Hm." He pursed his lips. "Well…ah…" He searched his pockets again and suddenly grinned, holding up what looked like a fingernail file. "Had a hangnail this afternoon and lifted this off Face. Now, let's see if we can remember the Safecracker and Cat Burglar Dance, shall we?"

"That _what_?"

"It goes like this:

_'You stick the pin in,_

_You pull the pin out_

_You stick the pin in_

_And you shake it all about_

_You do the hokey-pokey and you turn yourself about…_

_And that's what it's all about!_

_Yah!'_

He sang as he slipped the nailfile into the keyhole, wiggled it, then pulled it out, stuck it in again, pulled it out, made a graceful turn, waggling his hands in the hair, and stuck the file in again. The door opened, he raised his hands in triumph as he finished the dance, and he stepped inside, holding the door for her. Anne slipped in past him, holding her bathrobe closed around herself, shivering.

"Might need another hot bath, to take the edge off that chill ya got now."

"Right," she nodded, needing to lean against the foot of the bed to keep her balance. She watched him, mesmerized again by how sexy he was – his bomber jacket, unkempt hair and five o'clock shadow made him…yummy. She swallowed as he stepped closer to her. He smelled like the outdoors and gunpowder and _maleness..._

"Been drinkin' a bit, huh?" he asked her softly.

"Yes," she nodded.

"Too bad." He glanced at her bedroom door. "Need me to tuck you in?"

"I…I think I can handle it okay," she answered, still clutching the lapels of the bathrobe together.

"Hm." He looked around the pretty, feminine room and nodded. But he didn't move for several moments, and Anne's heart started pounding when he moved closer, and finally traced the line of her jaw with his fingertip. She swallowed and looked up into his eyes. "I lied when you said you look older," he said softly. "You're just as young and pretty as you ever were."

She licked her lips and whispered, "Thank you." She closed her eyes and sighed when his lips brushed hers, and she forgot all about holding her robe together as her hands slipped to his shoulders. He deepened the kiss, and Anne moaned, moving into his arms, seeking his heat and strength. She felt his hands move slowly – tentatively – to her breasts, and sighed as he began caressing her, pushing her robe open and reacquainting himself with her body.

When he pulled away, she almost burst into tears, and yanked the robe back together again, staggering forward and almost falling against him. He tied the ends of the silk belt around her waist and gave her an amused smile.

"You're drunk, Anne."

"I…yes…I guess I am. I didn't…mean to…" She rubbed her eyes, still trembling, aching for his touch.

"It's all right, baby. Let's put you to bed, okay?" He gently took her arm and led her to the side of the bed. "Come on…next time, maybe you'll leave the wine, hm?"

The bed was too tall for Anne to get into without a lot of effort, and he finally just picked her up and gently settled her onto the blankets, moving her carefully to avoid letting the robe open again. He helped her get the blankets up over her legs and let her pull them up herself. She settled back against the pillows, holding the blanket up under her chin and chewed on her lower lip, still tasting him there.

"Anne?"

"Yes?" she squeaked. She could remember that night on the fishing boat, when he had touched her…was he remembering it too?

"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?"

"No."

"I was just thinking…maybe it's time we had a proper date."


	11. Stradivarius

Murdock and Face got back to his family's farm at almost four in the morning, the captain having lingered in Anne's room at the Musgrove's house, waiting to make sure she was safely asleep before he left. He and Face walked, neither of them minding the chill in the air, and Face even admitted that he kind of enjoyed country life. "Not that I intend to settle in the country, mind you," he told the pilot as they went inside the house, pausing in the mudroom to kick off their shoes. "Vacations would be nice out here, though, I gotta say. The peace, the quiet, the lack of explosions…"

They trailed into the living room, both snickering about Hannibal's lack of stamina these days – the old man had looked exhausted when he'd left, and they both felt sort of sorry for him as they thought about it. He had been awake for a few days now, from what they could tell, and constantly going over plans to deal with Spencer Hawes – Hannibal liked to cover all his bases, and tried to always be two (or more) steps ahead of the enemy whenever possible. The problem, Face was pointing out as they went into the living room, was _overkill_. "Sometimes, Hannibal plans a bit too far ahead…that's all I'm sayin', man. Sometimes, he ends up stepping on his own feet…I think he needs a vacation, too. Some rest and relaxation…mai-tais on the beach, ogle some pretty girls…"

"Try and convince him of that," Murdock said wearily. "I've never seen him take a day off in the nine years I've known him." He noticed that the TV was on and turned to go shut it off, heard a slight noise and turned, tensing and ready for a fight with an intruder…except that he saw something far worse: Hannibal and Eve cuddled up on the couch, both sound asleep. The Colonel was on his back, and Eve was lying on top of him, curled up with her hair spread across his chest. His _bare_ chest. "Oh. My. _God_!" Murdock yelped and almost fell back onto the TV.

Hannibal jerked, and Eve let out a small shriek of alarm and fell off, landing on her hands and knees on the floor. "Ouch…" She sat back, pulling her bathrobe closed before allowing Smith to help her to her feet. Face came rushing in, and his eyes widened before he started snickering, ducking his head and trying – without success – to cover his laughter. Hannibal, running his hands through his hair, stood up. Murdock looked down and rolled his eyes.

"Well, I see we've got six more weeks of winter!"

The embarrassed Colonel whirled around and zipped his pants. Eve glared at her stepson and the wide-eyed Lieutenant at his side.

"What?" she said, lifting her chin and giving them both a hard glare. "And before you start lecturing me, young man, you might…might realize it's…" She peered around him at the clock above the TV. "_Four in the morning_!"

"Yes. It is four in the morning. And I'm sorry, but at four in the morning, a guy doesn't expect to find his…his mother on top of…of…a guy! I never even caught you and Dad together, thank you gracious Lord _Jesus_! Like I don't already have enough mental health issues as it is!"

Eve sighed, dropping her head into her hand and rubbing her temples. Hannibal, still at a loss for words, finally stepped forward, attempting to look commanding and stern. That effect was ruined, however, but his state of undress, a lipstick stain on his jaw and a small but unmistakable hickey on his neck. He realized that his XO and the captain were both staring at it and began rubbing it, cheeks pinking.

"Ahem…well…it's way past lights out, boys," he said at last, in as crisp a voice as could be uttered by a man who had been caught with his hand in the proverbial cookie jar.

"Yes, you'd think that, wouldn't you?" Murdock snapped, annoyed and bewildered at once. "But I take it the lights have been on for the two of you for a while. When did this start?"

"Bogie," Hannibal muttered, looking a little sheepishly at Eve, who didn't look all that embarrassed.

"What? What's golf got to do with this?" Face asked, confused.

"We were watching a Bogart marathon," Eve said testily. "We just sort of started…and it was…we didn't…well, excuse me, but John and I are adults and hardly need your permission to…to…"

"Grope each other on the couch," Murdock finished for her. "_John_?"

"I have a hard time calling him Hannibal," Eve said. "It makes me think about elephants…and I don't like elephants."

Hannibal began rubbing his temples then. Apparently, that was a small bone of contention between them.

"Oh, speaking of groping, Murdock here has a date tonight!" Face said excitedly, nudging his friend, who looked like he might punch him in some place besides just his arm.

"With Anne, I take it," Eve said, giving her stepson a cool look.

"Wh-…what? How did you know about that?"

"Oh, please, I've known you were into her since she was sixteen. I would only have said something if I had believed you were doing anything improper, which you didn't, so I didn't even say anything to Ben about it." She lifted her chin.

"How the hell did you know about that?" Murdock shouted at her, horrified and embarrassed at once.

"Oh, please. I'm a woman." She straightened her bathrobe lapels a bit and glanced at Hannibal, who seemed to have pulled himself back together a bit and actually grinned.

"Yeah. Don't I know it."

* * *

><p>"So Hannibal's boffing my stepmother and I'm going on a date tonight with a girl I was groping when she was sixteen," Murdock grumbled, pouring himself a cup of paint-stripper coffee. "A horny nutjob on his first date in years and a geriatric romance between my CO and my own stepmother. We're like characters in a Eugene O'Neill play."<p>

"Aw, c'mon," Face shook his head. "I don't think they're knocking boots yet…and she was right, it's nobody's business but theirs…and I'd hardly say they were geriatric, Murdock. And Anne is ten years older now, so it's all legal if you do in fact decide to…uh…"

"Shut up," Murdock snapped.

"What, you're not thinkin' about it? Hell, I'm thinkin' about it!"

"If you're thinkin' about it with _Anne_, I will tear out your intestines and make you eat them. With secret sauce!"

"I am not. I'm thinkin' about it with Charissa, actually. Geez, I haven't seen her in two months. It's drivin' me crazy."

"Well…call her, then," Murdock muttered. He sat down at the table, opposite his best friend. "Meanwhile…meanwhile, where should I take Anne tonight?"

"To bed?" Face grinned, and only relented when he saw Murdock's nervous expression – the pilot was chewing on his lip and looking pensive. "Okay, okay…sorry. There's dinner, a movie, dancing…"

"Dancing? I only know the hokey-pokey and the Mashed Potato!"

"You really need to expand your horizons, buddy," Face said, clapping Murdock's shoulder as he got up. "I'll leave that up to you. Hey, you're not a total babe in the woods, Murdock. You know her likes, her dislikes, her…er…proclivities. So go from there. What does she like?"

"She likes the river, and…uh…stargazing, and…er…she likes old movies and drawing…and…" His brow furrowed. He couldn't exactly talk about the latest fashions with her. His idea of _haute couture_ was a clean T-shirt and jeans with no holes in them.

"…making out with eccentric pilots…" Face grinned at him. "I knew of at least three women in Iraq alone that would have loved to have done that with you."

"Listen, are you trying to do, give me a freakin' stroke?"

* * *

><p>Anne was struggling to keep from panicking. She had almost the entire day, however, to worry about her date with James and how things might go. She had a fairly good memory of him not only seeing her <em>naked<em> last night, but of him touching her rather intimately, and if that wasn't a precursor to how things might go tonight, she didn't know what would. Thus, she sat in the guest bedroom of Marie's house and stared at her choices in clothes and underwear.

No way was she going to consult Marie on this matter. Her sister apparently did not enjoy sex at all and would pick the Granny underpants and the Brassiere of Death for first date-wear. She thought briefly of calling Elizabeth, but nixed that idea before it could even take form – she would get snippy about Anne's choice in potential lovers, for one thing ("A _Murdock_?"), and would go from there. She pondered going downstairs and consulting with Mrs. Musgrove, but the old woman would probably either be embarrassingly open about such matters…or be _horrifyingly_ open about such matters. She wasn't sure if she could take dating – much less sex – tips from a woman in her mid-eighties who had once said that for her honeymoon she had just gone upstairs and met the One-Eyed Monster for the first time and found him to be a rather pleasant fellow…once she figured out that that was what she was _supposed_ to do.

She shuddered.

"Okay. You are a _fashion designer_. You once sold an entire spring wardrobe to Princess freaking Caroline of Monaco. You can do this!" She pulled on the lacy bikini panties – which felt a lot like body floss, now that she had them on – and the Victoria's Secret matching lace and silk bra and looked at herself in the full-length mirror. Not bad – good muscle tone, flat tummy, really nice legs, cute little butt, nice skin without any appalling marks (just a small mole left of her navel, which James already knew about), and really very nice boobs. She had caught James looking at them more than once, that was for sure, and each time it had made her heart beat a little faster. Anybody else would have gotten a sound slap, after all.

Properly kitted out in her underclothes, Anne pondered what sort of outfit she should wear. Casual, maybe – a comfortable T-shirt and jeans, with deck shoes? It was fall, so white was out of the question, of course, so she began searching through the clothes she had brought from New York and finally found a pair of jeans with sequined pockets and tried them on – a bit tight, she had to admit. She searched for her favorite Navy blue slacks and decided they looked best with a nice boat-necked dark blue and white top. She put on her black deck shoes and checked herself out in the mirror.

She looked like a Navy cadet.

That would not do on a date with an _Army_ Ranger. She sat down and looked at the phone. She had one last resource, and decided that she might as well kill two birds with one stone while she was at it.

* * *

><p>Lily sat down and crossed her knees, observing Anne as the young woman modeled her outfit. "Okay, I like the top – black really does well with your coloring, but the sequined jeans are too tight. Go with the gray slacks."<p>

"Right, right…" Anne snatched the pair of pants out of the closet and changed from the jeans – which had left imprints on her skin – into them. "How does this look?"

"Very good."

Anne eyed Lily for a moment, wondering what her friend was thinking. Lily had only nodded when informed that she was going out with James that night, and hadn't made any comments at all.

"So…um…what do you think about…about me going out with…James?" she asked cautiously.

"How old are you now?"

"Twenty-eight."

"Then it's fine, and I have no dog in the hunt any more. I wasn't against _James_, Anne. I never thought he was anything approaching a bad guy. In fact, he was always pretty sweet, even if he couldn't stand me."

"He couldn't stand you?" Anne was startled. "Really?"

"I think that if I had disappeared and was found months later in the trunk of a car at the bottom of a lake, he would have been what the police call a 'person of interest'."

"Really?" Anne sat down, stunned.

"Please…he really liked you…but I was still of the opinion that you were too young for marriage, and he held that against me. Maybe I was wrong, but…hey, I was just trying to look out for you, okay?" Lily shrugged. "You were nineteen, you had no mother, and your sisters weren't exactly great founts of wise and measured advice…granted, at the time, I was twenty-two and stupidly shacked up with a man who insisted on calling my breasts 'bazoombas', but you go with the information you have at the time."

"Oh…"

"You live and you learn. I'll still want to vet him properly, of course," Lily grinned. "'Course, I'd also love to conduct a series of tests on Lieutenant Peck, too…"

Anne couldn't keep from giggling. "He wasn't the guy you knew, from way back…?"

"No, no, that was another guy. A Lieutenant Thomas Warner. God, he was gorgeous, and so…_nice_. It just didn't work out, was all. Almost any man looks good in uniform, and it's funny – he was trained to kill, but he was as sweet and gentle a man as I've ever known. Funny how the military sends out men who can kill people and break things and yet are total gentlemen otherwise...military men, for the most part, are just…kinder. Protect the weak and defend the defenseless…then go kick ass for the U S of A…"

"Break 'em down, them build 'em up again," Anne nodded, remembering James's rather vague descriptions of his training. Her brow furrowed as she went into the bathroom and checked out her face for any signs of unfortunate eruptions or hairs that didn't belong. He hadn't ever said _Army_ training…

"So…where are you two going?" Lily asked.

"I have no idea!"

"Then I suggest something chic and sexy, with a bit for the imagination. Forget the pants and the top. Wear that French print dress. Simple, classy, and easily removed if needed."

* * *

><p>"Okay, button-down tailored shirt, check…" Face nodded, stepping back to look the nervous pilot over. "Casual sportscoat, fits almost perfectly, too… Nice chinos…but really, Murdock, Chuck Taylors?"<p>

"I always wear Chucks!" Murdock snapped. "Boots hurt and I've yet to want anything to do with mandles."

"I wear mandles!" Face griped at him.

"Yeah, and I've seen you wear white after Labor Day, but did I jump all over you about it?"

"As a matter of fact you did, you big dope," Face grumbled. He had contemplated trying to get Murdock into a tie, but that would require roping Hannibal and maybe even B.A. and both of Murdock's brothers into the job to hold him down for the task. "It was an hour-long lecture on how one never wears white after Labor Day or velvet after Valentine's Day."

"Well, you shouldn't do either. And peacock feathers are bad luck, too, by the way."

Face rolled his eyes. He had scammed a place in L.A. a few months ago, and had put a vase of peacock feathers in one corner of the living room, which caused Murdock to declare that he would not enter the apartment until the feathers were gone. Murdock's case was made a few days later when Face's date had turned out to be a former _man_. Sometimes, he really hated it when the pilot was right, but he had gotten rid of the peacock feathers just the same.

"Okay, so where are you taking the fair Miss Elliott?"

"I dunno," Murdock shrugged. He got up and started digging around in his drawers for something. Face pondered and dug in his pockets until he found two condoms.

"Here, you might need these." Murdock turned back and saw the two packages and gave Face a hard glare. The conman grinned. "Hey, listen, I'm just sayin', okay? But anyway…how can you not have a plan, dude? You need a plan!"

"I don't plan. I just…let stuff happen." Murdock scratched the back of his neck, remembering the night he had actually proposed to Anne. He had carried that ring around in his pocket for almost a year, waiting until the right time (and she was of legal age of consent) before he had finally sat her down on a piling at the dock, dropped to his knee and asked her to be his wife. At the time, she had been very happy to say yes. He pushed away the pain and anger and humiliation of her change of heart a few weeks later. That was in the past, and he was more interested in the future now.

"Well, that may be the problem, man. You have to have some idea of where to go." Face rubbed his chin, thinking, and finally grinned. "I know where you can go! I think you could even get a good table, with the right credentials."

"I am not going to pretend to be a doctor again!" Murdock said. "Last time I did, I was asked to perform a tracheotomy on a choking bar patron! The man could have died if I hadn't been able to find a ball-point pen!"

"No, no, nothing like that. Ever been…an elected official before?"

"No, mainly because I'm not a drooling cretin who can't get a real job!"

* * *

><p>Anne answered the door herself, and Murdock was immediately on alert when he saw her anxious expression. He peered around her and spotted <em>that<em> woman. His eyes narrowed, and immediately Lily raised her hands in the air. Anne glanced back at her friend, then back at him. "Hi," she finally managed.

"Hi. What the hell is she doin' here?" he asked mildly.

"Um…wardrobe consultation. Come on in, it's cold…"

"No, I'll stay here," he said, knowing he sounded sour. Hell, yes, he was sour. If it hadn't been for Lily Russell, he would have just celebrated ten years of marriage and might even have a kid or two. He glared at Lily, who looked suitably uncomfortable.

"Captain Murdock," she finally said, putting her hands down.

"Milly."

"Lily," she corrected.

"Don't give a damn. Anne, are you ready to go?"

"Listen, the two of you need to bury the hatchet," Anne said. "It was ten years ago, and it's all water under the bridge…"

"I'll bury the hatchet, definitely," Murdock said, in an acid sweet voice, and mumbled "_In her skull_."

"James," Anne said again, more softly this time. He flinched at the sight of her distress, and exhaled.

"Okay, okay…fine. Whatever, Tilly."

"_Lily_. And I think I should tell you that I had nothing against you personally back then, or now. I was only looking out for _Anne_."

"Yeah. Whatever. So I'll release you from that curse I put on you ten years ago, and can assure you that eventually the burning sensation will cease and the men you date will stop calling your breasts 'bazoombas'."

Lily's eyes widened, and Anne looked back at her, eyebrows up. James finally presented his arm to Anne, who took it. He surprised her by giving her a quick but sweet kiss that left her slightly dizzy. Lily watched them leave, a little nonplussed by James's attitude, but not surprised by it. She shut the door and contemplated sitting down by the fire to wait for Anne to return home, but decided it wasn't her business any more. Anne's life was her own now, and that was that. She started laughing as she headed up the stairs – she suspected that if and when Anne returned home tonight, her dress would be on inside out and she would be grinning from ear to ear.

* * *

><p>"An expert pilot," James told Anne as he helped her into the passenger seat of the tiny Cessna Face had 'borrowed' for him, "uses his expertise to avoid getting into situations where his expertise would be required." Once he was sure she was strapped in safely, and having given her legs a proper ogling, he climbed into the pilot's seat, checked the dials, started up the engine and started easing the little plane toward the runway.<p>

"Why does that statement fill me with a certain degree of dread?"

"Aw, now, honey don't worry," he said. He turned on the horn. "This is…er…Congressman Billingham's charter niner-niner four-oh-seven-three moving out to runway nine. Need ETA on clearance."

Anne stared at him, and he gave her a sickly smile.

"You should be out in ten minutes, sir," crackled a voice from the tower.

"Very good." He switched off the horn and tried to avoid making eye contact with Anne, who continued to stare at him.

"_Congressman_?" she finally said.

"Er…well…see, I'm takin' you someplace special…in Houston, see…and….well, Facey got me this little puddlejumper on very short notice and Congressman Billingham's a big environmentalist, see, so it's not gonna matter to him. He rails against gas consumption by the unwashed masses and travels in a personal jet and Humvees himself…so a little jaunt to Houston is no skin off his back…"

"My sister voted for the son of a bitch," Anne muttered. "She'll be gratified to know I'm dating him. And where are we going in Houston?"

"Livestock Show an' Rodeo?"

"That's already been and gone," she said.

"Oh. Right. You know, my father and my mother…my birth mother…saw Elvis there one year. Hard to believe, huh? I mean, _Elvis_…"

"James…"

"It's just a nice restaurant. Plus some other stuff. Are you impressed yet?"

"I'm somewhere between impressed and terrified. What happens when someone finds out you're not Congressman Billingham?"

"With any luck to his constituents, an ethics trial and removal from office. Hey, if Weiner can get forced out office for not even actually havin' sex – while also being a complete jerk - that sleazy prick can get forced out for not even actually takin' a plane trip to Houston!"

* * *

><p>Face dropped down beside B.A., who was staring at the monitors and looking just a bit bug-eyed. "Hey, need a break, big guy?"<p>

"I've seen mice in the barn, thousand of crickets, an armadillo, a few rabbits…big excitement yesterday, though! I saw a possum!" B.A. told him, sounding just a little manic. "I gotta get outta here or I'm gonna be crazier than Murdock!"

"Right. Hey, go on to town for a bit. There's one bar…you might find yourself some companionship for the evening, eh?" Face dug around in his pack for the sandwich he had brought and extracted it. Murdock had whipped up the tuna fish salad and had slapped the sandwich together before he had left, and Face took a grateful bite, tasting mild tuna, egg, Hellman's mayo, a bit of cayenne pepper, and dill. "Have some fun…just don't have too much fun, okay?"

"I'm gonna run over ever' damed 'dillo I see!" B.A. muttered, leaving the 'command center' (an upstairs bedroom at The Shallows) and heading downstairs. Face checked his infrared camera and binoculars, and scanned the screens. He observed B.A. getting into the van and driving away, then settled in for a long night.

* * *

><p>Things weren't going too badly, really. The table was at a window overlooking Galveston Bay, and the lights reflecting on the water were very pretty. Houston was not anybody's idea of a really beautiful city, but the bay in late fall was quiet and free of yachters and tourists, and the boardwalk was largely deserted. Murdock planned to just walk along the line of shops facing the water and wrap the evening up on a small beach he knew about, sitting on a blanket and looking up at the stars.<p>

The only unpleasant thing so far was people calling him Congressman all the time…and the violinist.

He eyed the musician as he wandered around the restaurant, playing various romantic-sounding tunes. Anne didn't appear to mind, though, so he drew in his breath and looked across the table at her. God, she was beautiful. Just like always. He hadn't been prepared to see her a few days before, and still regretted his rude behavior toward her, and now he hoped to make up for it somehow.

"How did you like your supper?" he asked.

"Oh, it was delicious," she said with a smile. "I'm not used to lobster."

"Neither am I," he said, shrugging. He hated lobster, actually. He didn't believe in macroevolution – the very idea of being told that he was related to some damned monkey was, in his mind, utterly insulting – but when he had read an article some time ago that intimated that cockroaches and lobsters were related, he didn't have much trouble agreeing. He also didn't like crab or really any kind of crustacean or seafood. Catfish was about as far as he could go, and maybe bass or croppy. And fishsticks. The prices on the menu had been enough to make him get a little woozy, but he was going to send the bill to Congressman Billingham. He had ordered salmon, and it was fairly good, but he didn't eat much of it. He was too busy staring at Anne and giving the violinist warning looks when he got too close.

"This is really nice, James, but you didn't have to go to so much trouble. A walk by the river and a peanut butter and jelly sandwich would have been fine. But I am having a good time. It's not every day a girl gets flown to dinner."

"Well, I figured you might like a little style."

She laughed. "So…what have you been doing these past ten years?"

"Gettin' shot at for the red white and blue. Blowin' stuff up. That kinda thing."

"And then getting framed…"

He nodded.

"You…weren't mistreated at that hospital in Germany, were you?" she asked him, looking anxious.

"Not really. No. No, I wasn't." He would save information about the ECT sessions for later.

Anne's fingers brushed his, and he returned her smile. Just then, the violinist came closer. She ignored the man, and leaned forward. "I missed you so much, James. I thought about you a lot, you know. I worried about you…when I heard you had been captured a few years ago, in…Egypt, was it? I was terrified…"

"I wasn't having a great time myself," he nodded, and glanced at Antonio Stradavarius, as he was now calling the violinist, who was now even closer and playing more loudly.

"Did they hurt you?" she asked softly.

"Eh…few bumps and bruises. Nothing serious."

Antonio was closer. Murdock, who didn't care for classical very much, still recognized 'Air on a G-String', which he had heard once before, having been dragged to a concert by Face. At the time, he had thought the tune had something to do with a stripper, but instead it had been boring music played by guys that looked like his father's dentist.

"I'm so glad you're all right, James," Anne told him. "I just…wonder if you can forgive me…"

"Sure I forgive you, baby," he said, leaning forward and giving Antonio a sharp look. But he was heavy into the G string now, making flourishing motions as he played. "What did you do?"

"I did disappoint you. You were so angry, and hurt…"

"Er…yeah, I was pretty mad, but I probably wasn't in any state of mind to get married anyway and you were pretty young and…" He suddenly moved, striking so quickly that the violinist was caught totally off guard when James snatched his bow away from him and threw it across the room, where it landed near the dessert cart. The violinist made a couple of grabs for the instrument, but in vain, and after huffing, straightening his lapels and giving James a sour look, turned and stalked off. James settled back into his seat and looked at her again before nodding, "…it was hardly the best of times for either of us."

"You were hurt, though," she said, glancing toward the violinist, who had retrieved his bow and was inspecting it to make sure it wasn't damaged.

He nodded again. "Yeah..."

"And then you ended up in South America somewhere and were…"

"I don't like talking about that, Anne. Not then, not now, and it's all in the past. Water under the bridge."

"Is it?"

"I was captured, I was treated…kinda badly, but I got out and I went kind of…off the deep end, I guess, and ended up in Mexico. After that, Hannibal found me and got me out and I've had…" He shrugged. "…some structure since then. Maybe not calm, really, but whenever I got really bad, they would take me someplace where I could get the help I needed and I always got out again…" He looked down. "If it hadn't been for them, I'd still be in Mexico, or…"

"Worse," she nodded, and he saw real misery in her eyes. "I never knew where you were, after you joined Smith's team. I heard about y'all through the grapevine, but then I moved to New York and I had even less information and Ben died…did you get to go home for the funeral?"

"Yeah. I did. Hannibal came with me, thank God. Kept me from goin' to pieces at the time. I was hard to say goodbye to Dad, that was for sure."

"Yes. I know. Saying goodbye…" She touched his fingers again. "It was so hard for me…giving that ring back…it was the hardest thing I've ever done. I was never more miserable in my life, when you walked away."

He nodded, reliving the pain he had felt then. It had, in the end, been the right decision for her, but for him, it had been agony. He wasn't willing to place blame on Anne for any of his actions after that, but it was true that he had stopped caring if he lived or died. He had volunteered for that mission in Bolivia just two months after their engagement had been broken, and had only managed to escape because his unit needed him to fly them out. The mental and emotional breakdown had followed shortly thereafter…

"I never stopped loving you," he said suddenly, and her eyes widened. "Never. Not even when I was at my worst."

"I never stopped loving you, either," she answered softly.

"Think we've still got a chance?" he asked, chewing nervously on his lip, searching her face for any sign of mendacity, and finding none.

She turned pink and smiled, looking down at her hands. "It's funny, how different men and women are, and yet how much we're the same…" She shook her head. "Women have this often unfortunate tendency to love longest with all hope is lost. I really did think I'd never see you again, James, and that if I ever did, you would despise me."

"I was pretty nasty that day…"

"You were surprised. I was too, and it's okay. It's okay. And yes…I think we have a chance. It's just…gonna be rough. You're on the run, and I'm just starting to make a name for myself in my career and…"

He nodded. "Yeah. I suspect that high fashion and police chases don't mix too well."

Anne smiled at him. "Well, it certainly won't be boring, will it, Congressman?"

"No. There won't be a dull moment!" he answered, and gave Antonio a sharp look. The violinist kept his distance and only played quietly, avoiding their table. Murdock and Anne looked out at the water, enjoying the quiet before what they both knew would soon be a storm.


	12. Helpless As a Kitten Up a Tree

Poor Face…I just got an idea and went with it. I just imagined how he might behave if he didn't get any rest.

Song reference: _Yesterday is Gone_, by Willie Nelson

* * *

><p>Hannibal rarely had many opportunities to wake up slowly, but not only was he easing his way into the morning, he was doing so in a pretty pleasant manner. He opened his eyes just a little, glanced at the alarm clock, which told him it was way past Army regular hours, and for the first time in about twenty years, he didn't give a damn.<p>

Eve's silky curls on his chest certainly made the morning even better, and he gave her a gentle nudge, just to see if she would stir. She only snuggled deeper into his embrace and sighed, but didn't open her eyes. He settled back into the pillow and relaxed, letting any residual tension ease away. He could definitely get used to waking up like this…

He knew her kids – and particularly Murdock – were not going to be thrilled about this. Neither he nor Eve had planned for it to happen, after all, but last night's attempt at a James Mason marathon on TCM had ended before the middle of _The Man in Grey_, and eventually – maybe inevitably – they had gone upstairs to her bedroom. He wasn't entirely sure, right now, who had done the actual seducing, but it had certainly felt right. It still felt right.

"Are you awake?" she asked him. She stacked her hands on his chest and rested her chin on them, peering into his eyes and smiling.

"Yeah."

God, she was beautiful. He brushed her dark hair off her cheek and smiled back, feeling completely comfortable and relaxed – a new phenomenon for him entirely. Until now, when he woke up with a woman, his first instinct was to dress and leave before any questions could be asked – he didn't like dealing with something so complicated as emotions, or particularly with _tears_.

He didn't want to leave this time. During the night, the thought of staying around kept entering his mind and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't make that idea go away. He didn't think he would even mind getting into the subject of emotions, and hated the idea of seeing this woman in tears.

"Well, what would you like for breakfast, _mon Colonel_?" she asked, in a breathy French accent that she had used last night, and which had turned him on more than anything he'd ever heard before. He knew now that she spoke fluent French, as she was a full-blooded Louisana Cajun, having been born and raised in the bayous north of New Orleans. Everything he learned about her fascinated him, and made him want to learn as much as he could about her.

"You."

She laughed softly. "I think you'll need at least a little food, _mon chere_…to keep up your strength."

He had learned a lot about her last night. Her middle name was Mignonette, for instance, which she found a little embarrassing. She was allergic to cats and loved children, particularly her own. She jogged four miles a day, regardless of the weather, and loved swimming, thus her trim and firm figure, and adored old movies and working in her garden. She had admitted that was she always late for nearly everything, which she considered a great failing (even though being late had resulted in four splendid children), and had recently developed a great weakness for tall, grey-haired Army officers.

Hannibal had revealed a few things about himself to her in return. His worries about being on the run, for one thing, and how it affected his boys – what could happen to them if they were ever captured, for one thing. Face and B.A. would be all right, in a way, but James…he knew the Captain would not fare so well, back in a mental hospital, being talked down to or possibly even abused. He told her about his family back in Boston, his career in the military, about Morrison's betrayal, and how his mother had wanted him to be a priest. She had made him laugh by saying that her mother had wanted her to be a nun. "I think, Colonel, that tonight is a bad night for mothers," she had said, before pulling him into bed.

She had married Ben Murdock at just nineteen, having met him about two years after the death of his first wife, and they had enjoyed a happy, devoted marriage, and she had no regrets about her life. All in all, Eve was entirely at peace with herself, which was another thing Hannibal liked about her. She didn't seem to have any hang-ups or major issues to cope with. She had learned, long ago, to be content with where and what she was, and to not sweat the small stuff, as she put it.

The fact that she was great in bed certainly was icing on the cake.

They were making love again when they heard the front door open, and Hannibal figured they should stop, just in case they were caught, but Eve would have none of it. "I made it clear to all my children, right from the start, that no one came into our bedroom when the door was closed unless the house or one them was actually on fire," she told him firmly, and with that Hannibal was happy to get busy again. Breakfast could wait, and whoever had just come into the house would just have to make their own damned breakfast.

* * *

><p>Anne was giggling a little when James fumbled for the front door keys, and she couldn't help interrupting him for a kiss as he struggled yet again to get the key in the hole. "At this rate, we'll never get inside," he told her, scolding just a little. He finally managed to get the door open and they tumbled into the house. He peered around the living room, wary of finding his CO and Eve on the couch again, but they were nowhere in sight.<p>

They had sat on the beach all night, enjoying the cool breeze and the sounds of the ships, with the tide rolling in just as they both dozed off. A dash for higher ground saved them from being sucked out into the bay, and they walked back to the boardwalk, holding their shoes and feeling like naughty children who were out past their curfew. The front buttons on Anne's dress were done up crookedly, and both of them were shaking sand out of their clothes as they drove back to the airport, but neither of them cared. They had listened to the radio on the way to Hobby, and sang along together to Willie:

_I live one day at a time_

_I dream one dream at a time_

_Yesterday is dead_

_And tomorrow is blind_

_And I live one day at a time_

_I guess that you're surprised to see me back home_

_But you know how much I miss you when I'm gone…_

"Did you really miss me?" she asked him as they went into the kitchen. He put on some coffee and began looking for something edible. Eve usually had something stashed away in case anybody got the midnight munchies, and he crowed in triumph when he found a plate of homemade cinnamon rolls in the microwave.

"Fishing for compliments?" he grinned at her, as he put two of the sweet rolls on a paper plate and gave them a short nuking. He poured them some coffee and snatched up the sticky treats, presenting them to her with a flourish.

"I suppose so," she smiled, taking a bite and sighing. "I wish I was half as good a cook as Eve."

"I'm sure you do fine…and I'm sure that if you aren't great in the kitchen, you're great in other rooms." He waggled his eyebrows at her, and she laughed. "And yes, I missed you. I thought about you every day, the past ten years. I just never felt like I oughta talk about you to anybody else. 'Crazy pilot romances teenaged girl'…sounds like a supermarket tabloid headline. Kissin' and tellin' is one thing, but…it didn't seem proper, and I never was one for besmirching a lady's name," he told her, lifting his chin and giving her a lofty look.

"I thought about you all the time, too, and I can assure you, few of the thoughts were exactly proper," she told him. "Never went on a single date because of you."

"Not even one?"

"I had no interest in them, and didn't feel right about just leading some poor guy on. So I just didn't. It was either you…or nobody. I've had a crush on you from the age of fifteen…and have loved you since I was about sixteen."

He contemplated that for a moment, realizing the ramifications and feeling thrilled at her honesty – there had never been any kind of pretension about Anne. She was who she was, and except for the immaturity of her younger days, she had always been straightforward and completely honest. She never said anything she didn't mean. Hell, the woman couldn't even conceal an emotion, which meant he could read her well and she would be a terrible actress.

They were sitting there, still smiling at each other, when Victoria Murdock suddenly appeared at the kitchen door, having come down to investigate suspicious noises and wondering why a burglar would prepare coffee. She was carrying a golfclub like a Masai spear, and looked positively stunned to see her older brother and Anne Elliott kibbitzing at the kitchen table.

"James!" she squealed, and rushed around to him. He got up in time to be hugged fiercely by his baby sister, and he picked her up, spinning her a couple of times before he realized she was still holding the golf club and could put out somebody's eye. "And…Anne Elliott…wow…um…is this an awkward moment? It's an awkward moment. I specialize in awkward moments. Just eight months ago, I walked in on my boyfriend having an awkward moment…well, a post-coital awkward moment…with my roommate, but my timing was never good. I'm like Mom – late for everything, and when I do finally show up, I walk in on all kinds of unpleasantness and police are often called to the scene shortly thereafter, which I won't go into for obvious reasons. Oh, I'm sorry…I also tend to babble when I walk in on awkward scenes. I even babble when I walk in on a bowl of fruit. Should I leave now?"

Anne covered her eyes with her hand.

"Siddown, goofy," Murdock said, rolling his eyes. "And what's this about your boyfriend? Should I hire somebody to break his kneecaps for you?"

"Oh, please, where would you get the five hundred dollars?" Victoria plopped into a seat at the table and looked at Anne. The younger woman was a pretty, bouncy redhead, tall and slender like most Murdocks, with red hair and jade green eyes. She looked a lot like Ben's mother's side of the family, but she had Eve's gentleness and friendliness. At twenty-two, she was months away from graduation from UT, where she was studying archaeology, of all things. So far, she had been on digs in Peru, Egypt and China, and would soon be in North Africa, excavating the ruins of an amphitheatre at an ancient Roman outpost. "He's long gone, thank God. Anne, it's nice to see you again. What brings you back to town?"

"Um…family business," Anne answered. She had always liked Victoria Murdock. She was sweet and scatterbrained and fun, without an ounce of guile or mendacity about her. She was like James, in many ways – incapable of dishonesty, and fiercely loyal to her family and friends. "Where did you get a golf club, by the way?"

"I found it in the hall closet. I was hearing noises and decided to investigate…you two were out together?" she asked, looking at Murdock and Anne with interest.

"Uh…yeah, we went out."

"I'm really not bad at golf," Victoria said, apparently wanting to ease carefully into that subject. "Well, not great…"

"What's your handicap?" Murdock asked.

"My arms are too short, for one thing. Where did y'all go last night? Mom mentioned that you two were…uh…_seeing each other_."

"Houston."

"_Sacre bleu_! _Houston_? Really? The farthest my boyfriend ever took me was Hippy Hollow!"

* * *

><p>Eve was still asleep, and Hannibal finally just couldn't bear the scent of coffee and something clearly sugar-coated wafting up from the kitchen – he was starving. Finally, he got up, pulled on his pajama bottoms and a T-shirt (no use embarrassing anybody just yet) and after a quick smoothing of his hair he headed downstairs. He was surprised to find Murdock and Anne at the table, listening to a pretty redhead chatter away about the cave mummies of Peru, and how mummies really can't be brought back to life, even if the right incantations are spoken in ancient Egyptian by Rachel Weitz. He froze in the doorway when Murdock spotted him, and he swallowed nervously.<p>

"Coffee's on," was all Murdock said, nodding his head toward the pot. The Colonel quickly rushed in and poured himself a cup, ready to bolt if the questioning became too pointed. "This is my sister, Victoria."

"Oh…yes, hello," Hannibal nodded. He accepted her hand and shook it firmly, surprised at how strong her grip was. Were all the Murdock women like this, he wondered.

"Hi!"

"Aren't you up kind of _late_?" Murdock asked. "It's ten o'clock!"

"Uh…slept kinda…late. Something about the air around here…and the cool weather…" Hannibal floundered, feeling almost frantic and giddy at once, and couldn't meet Murdock's eye. This was beyond bizarre. Less than an hour ago, he had been having _sex_ with Eve and now here he was, staring at her stepson and her daughter while they studied him. "So…you're an…er…archaeologist?"

"Yep. Indiana Murdock, right here in our kitchen. She left her bullwhip in her bedroom, next to her Madame Alexander doll," Murdock told him, and yelped when Victoria kicked him in the ankle.

"I lost my hat fighting an antiquities thief on the mighty Pacific Ocean…during a storm." Victoria grinned and stood up. "Where's Mom? She's usually up a lot earlier than this. Like, at the crack of dawn."

"I am awake now," Eve said, coming into the kitchen. She glanced at Hannibal, who felt his cheeks warming. He glanced at her daughter and stepson, but they were arguing about some minor plot point of the Indiana Jones series of films and didn't see his blush. Eve rolled her eyes and went to the coffee pot and poured herself a cup. "I guess y'all have business at The Shallows today?"

"Yes, ma'am," Murdock nodded. "We'll be gone all day. Face is doin' recon on Spencer Hawes and B.A. is, from the last I heard, trying to recover from the mother of all hangovers."

"I still can't believe he was let loose on Saratoga, Texas," Hannibal said. "What was Face thinking? Oh, and has he checked in with you yet?"

"Nary a peep," Murdock shook his head. "You know, that poor guy hasn't slept in about eighty hours? Remember what happened last time he went without sleep for so long?"

"It did take a while to talk him down from that fishing boat's mast, didn't it?"

* * *

><p>Face rubbed his eyes and sat back in the chair, wishing to God he had let B.A. take over from him when he had come back from town. The mechanic, however, was clearly in no condition for anything besides cold water and a raw egg, so he had told him to go to bed instead. He looked at his watch, tried to remember how to read it, and finally realized that he had been awake for <em>eighty <em>hours. No wonder he was so emotional – it was either that, or he was pregnant, and he kind of doubted it was the latter.

B.A. came in, staggered to a chair and sat down. "Man, my head is killin' me."

"All those hamsters crawlin' around on it probably ain't helping," Face said, and shook his head, trying to clear it.

"What?"

"Er…never mind! Have you heard from Hannibal…or, um…whatsisname…"

"Murdock?"

"Yes. Murdock! That's it!"

"No," B.A. answered, giving him a narrow look.

Face looked at the screens again and decided that B.A. probably wouldn't appreciate hearing that he had started watching _himself_ on the screen last night and had begun to disapprove of some of the things he was doing. It had been hilariously funny, though, when he had started dancing around the room and complimented 'Screen Face' and his moves. At around dawn, he was beginning to understand why Murdock had so much fun just doing whatever he damn well pleased, without any concern about what people thought.

He scratched his chin and wondered if Murdock would approve of 'Screen Murdock''s behavior. Probably. The pilot would probably egg his screen self on to doing even crazier stuff than dancing a merengue and trying to remember the words to 'I've Been Everywhere'. Face had gotten lost at Barranquilla and had had to sit down and cry a little at about two that morning, then he had gone into several of the numbers from _Cats_, with Screen Face doing a lot better than Real Face, who kept forgetting the lyrics.

"Man, you look like you've been rode hard and put up wet," B.A. said, jerking Face out of his slightly manic thoughts.

"I have been! Yes! Once, long ago. She wore me out!"

"Hey…you okay, dude?"

"I saw a kitten up in that tree last night!" Face said, pointing at an oak tree on screen four. His eyes filled with tears at the memory. The kitten was still there, come to think of it. Face peered at the screen and blinked.

"A kitten?"

"Yes…poor…poor little pussycat!" Face said, unable to fight back his tears.

Oh, God, not this again, B.A. thought. "Okay, Faceman, it's bedtime for you…"

Face burst into tears then, blubbering against B.A.'s chest about pussycats and why couldn't he remember the words to Johnny Cash songs? B.A. set the wild-eyed lieutenant back, shook him a couple of times to try and get him to snap out of his attack of the loons and finally just picked him up and started dragging him out of the room, intending to put him to bed. The phone rang then, and B.A.'s shoulders sagged. It was the main comm. line – Hannibal.

"Sit," he told Face, guiding him to the chair.

Face nodded and sat down. B.A. snatched up the line, turning away before he saw Face pitch forward and land on his namesake. "This is B.A."

"B.A., we need you two up at the Murdock farm. We have some details to go over before we send Face out to check out Spencer Hawes."

B.A. glanced at Face and yelped, alarmed to see him on his knees, his face buried in the Berber carpet. He rushed over and grabbed the sleeping – and drooling – conman, who was snoring and mumbling something about kittens. He sat him back in the chair, propping him up as best he could as he listened to Hannibal bark at him. He doubted the lieutenant had the wherewithal right now to check himself into a rest home.

"Uh…well…there's…"

"B.A., that's an order!" Hannibal snapped, sounding a little irritable.

"Yes…yes, sir."

Hannibal hung up and B.A. groaned. He had dealt with droopy, loopy, drug-addled Murdock before, and loathed what those doctors and those drugs did to the crazy fool's otherwise sharp mind. He had dealt with Hannibal being battered and bruised after a fight and suffering from killer migraines. He had never, however, dealt with a sleep-deprived, babbling and weepy Face and had no point of reference whatsoever – it had been Hannibal and even Murdock who took over when Face went haywire after a long period of sleeplessness, which was apparently something that happened to Peck sometimes.

The lieutenant's worst moments, that B.A. had seen, were always after a fight with Charissa or when the husband of some woman caught him with his pants down around his ankles, and B.A. knew how to deal with _that_ (usually, it involved delivering a sharp but brief homily on keeping your pants zipped and staying away from unavailable women, which was generally ignored by the conman). This, however, was going to be much, much tougher.

* * *

><p>"I see the van," Hannibal said, getting up. He had slipped upstairs and into Eve's bedroom, where she had already gone, and they had dressed quickly, neither of them terribly embarrassed – which was another thing to think about later, he figured – and he had slipped back out after checking the hallway for potential witnesses. Once he knew all was clear, it had been a dash to the guest bedroom for his shoes and a quick shave. He was back downstairs before Murdock reappeared, the pilot's expression inscrutable. Anne, having straightened the buttons on her dress and looking a lot more settled, was perched on the couch and Murdock sat down beside her.<p>

B.A. came in then, but he was walking backwards, talking in a strangely soothing voice. "…we'll get that kitten down from the tree soon, Face, but ya gotta come in here or…or the kitten won't come down. The kitten wants you to come inside, dammit!"

"Poor little pussy cat!" Face said, and stumbled into the house, almost collapsing against B.A. When he saw Hannibal and Murdock, he waved happily and smiled, but his eyes were unfocused.

"Oh, God, he's fried," Murdock said. "Didn't he sleep?"

"You know how he gets sometimes. All nervy and nuttier'n you, Fool," B.A. said grouchily. "No, he didn't sleep. Musta been eighty hours since he did! If it wad'n for that, I'd think he'd exchanged brains with you!"

"How's he s'pposed to do recon in that state?" Hannibal snapped.

"Well…" Murdock scratched the back of his neck. "I suppose I could go…"

"You?" Hannibal looked the pilot up and down. "And how much have you slept in the past twenty-four hours?"

"Enough. I mean…I mean, we slept on the beach." He glanced nervously at Anne, who just laughed.

Face's eyes widened and he stared owlishly at this friend. "You were lying down?"

"Yes, Facey, we were lying down."

"On a bed?"

"On the _beach_, Face," Murdock reiterated.

Eve interrupted them. "Lieutenant Peck, I think you need to go to sleep."

"In a bed?" he asked her, staring intently into her eyes. "Oh my God, you had sex last night!"

Everyone the room whipped around to stare, wide-eyed, at Eve, whose face turned pink. Victoria made a squeaking sound and sat down. Eve lifted her chin and glared back at everyone except Face, who was babbling about kittens again.

"What…what is he talking about?" Victoria asked, appalled.

"Oh, please, the man's sleep-deprived!" Hannibal said, and gestured for B.A. to take the lieutenant away before he revealed how many _times_ he and Eve had made love last night. It annoyed him all to hell, but no matter what state Face was in, but he could always tell if somebody had gotten some in the past twenty-four hours. He had once said it was just a pheromone the person put out after coitus, as well as 'a vacant, not-quite-there expression' that was pretty unmistakable. He remembered that an argument had ensued after Murdock had commented that it was no wonder Face always looked so goofy.

B.A., tired of hauling Face around, plopped him down at the dining table and turned back to face everyone. "Listen, I got a headache and Face here ain't in no shape for nothin' but rescuin' kittens and singing Johnny Cash songs, and off-key at that, which the Man in Black wouldn't appreciate much. So it's either me, you or Murdock goin' down to Hawes' office, and it ain't gonna be me!"

"Face?" Hannibal bent down a little and looked into his XO's eyes, and Face grinned happily at him. "Are you in there?"

"You got some last night, too!" Face squealed, clapping his hands happily. "_Mazel tov_!" He leaned back against the table, his elbow in the butter dish, and finally fell over on his face again.

"Put him to bed. Murdock, you're up."


	13. Don Fernando Has Many Cattle

I dunno if people will like this chapter. It took me, what, three weeks to finally finish it? Anyhow, just moving things along. Face will be coherent and barely remember the kitten in the next chapter. But the kitten will come up later. Hold on to your butts!

* * *

><p>"Okay, first of all, we need to go over the details, and then…uh…we'll leave the general stuff up to you, Murdock."<p>

Murdock wasn't entirely sure he appreciated the look of real concern that crossed Hannibal's face, but he decided to leave that for later. Instead, he leaned on his forearms and watched as B.A. stomped into the house again, carrying a black kitten in his huge hands, and headed upstairs. Face had been demanding he be _shown_ the actual kitten he had seen stuck up the tree, and the two kittens B.A. had brought in so far had been the wrong color. The mechanic looked extremely grumpy, particularly since he had a cat allergy that rendered him bleary-eyed and incoherent for days after encountering anything feline. He hadn't even been able to sit through _Catwoman_ without sneezing. Of course, not many people had been able to sit through that movie, period…

"Murdock pay attention, please," Hannibal said patiently, noting that the pilot's mind was wandering a bit. Anne, seated beside the Colonel, was looking at the papers on Harry Elliott's loan from Spencer Hawes' company, which was called the Criterion Group, and she cleared her throat, hoping to get everybody back on track again.

"Attention must be paid," Murdock nodded gravely, and Hannibal sighed, feeling a headache forming behind his eyes. That meant a migraine, and he prayed silently to God for patience and for Eve to have some talent at massage. Full body massage, preferably. His mouth twitched – there was a good cure for a headache: thinking about making love to Eve. Or, actually, making love to Eve, full stop.

He cleared his throat and told himself to think about Eve later. Right now, he had to keep his mind on the business at hand. "Okay. Here's the deal – Spencer Hawes is basically just a bully, because he doesn't have balls, like all bullies. He's an opportunist who takes advantage of the weak, the naïve and…" he glanced at Anne, who raised her eyebrows. "Okay, the mildly stupid. Sorry."

"It's okay, but watch for scorpions in your bed tonight," Anne smiled. "My father is very vain and very foolish, but he is my father and I do love him."

"Oh, geez, remember that scorpion you found in your bed back in Iraq?" Murdock asked brightly. "It's a wonder you didn't hear him screaming all the way back in New York, Anne. It was incredible. Hannibal's only afraid of two things: scorpions and _commitment_."

"Murdock!" Hannibal grouched, glancing into the kitchen and seeing Eve raise her eyebrows.

"I admit, I woulda done the same thing. I hate scorpions…and commitment ain't no picnic either. To mental hospitals, I mean. The other kinda commitment I could do…" He glanced at Anne and caught her smile.

"Murdock, _please_."

"Oh. Sorry. Attention being paid!"

"Right. You have to play on his weaknesses. I have a feeling he's got some financial difficulties of his own, or why would he be putting so much pressure on people who only owe him relatively small amounts of cash when he allegedly owns a successful company? I mean, fifty grand is a lot of money, but Face did a little bit of research before he went off to Loony Land last night and he found out that the Criterion Group has had a rather checkered history with local banks and three years ago he filed chapter eleven and then suddenly he came into a lot of money…just days after a local man's house burned to the ground. Face only managed to make some circumstantial connections, mind you, because the paper trail was pretty light, but the house owner owed money to Criterion Group…are you following this, Murdock?"

Murdock was half-listening to Hannibal. He was looking at Anne and thinking about last night on the beach. They hadn't actually made love, because he wasn't into public sex, even on an isolated beach at night, and also because while in his past he had never been unwilling to have a one-night stand with a good-hearted woman he met in a bar, this situation was entirely different. This was _Anne_, who had apparently been saving herself…just for him. _For me_, he thought. _Like I'm any great shakes_!

"Murdock?" Hannibal said, leaning forward. "Are you with us?"

"Hm? Oh. Yes. Weaknesses, bankruptcy, came into cash at just the right time, something about paper and I'm not sure if you mentioned puppies, and the Criterion Group. Gotcha."

Hannibal's expression softened just a little when Eve came in with the coffee pot, and she refilled everyone's cups. She poured Hannibal a glass of iced tea, however, and handed him three extra strength Tylenol capsules, softly whispering something to him about how they always come in handy during Victoria's terrible twos. He glanced at Murdock, thought about hard-to-control but brilliant children, and swallowed the pills with one gulp of good Southern-style iced tea. It felt like the very definition of the word 'cool' sliding down his throat and soothing his rattled nerves, with just the tiniest little kick of orange pekoe and a twist of lemon-sweet to make it extra wonderful. He had looked in the fridge that morning and had seen that Eve had purchased Banana Pudding Blue Bell ice cream and he knew he would consume a large portion of it before the day was over…or actually, he hoped to be licking it up and hearing soft giggling…

Anne rapped her knuckles on the table, jerking Hannibal from his thoughts about spreading Banana Pudding ice cream onto certain areas of Eve's anatomy. "That burned-down house…that was…three years ago? I remember hearing about that. It was Tom Watkins – I know him!" she said, looking at Hannibal. "Maybe we could go talk to him?"

"Where is he?" he asked, wondering how in the name of Mother Dixie he had become so easily distracted. He stubbornly attributed it to hormones, instead of the obvious answer.

"Um…well, he's in a nursing home. Not in the best shape, actually. The fire and losing his property did him in pretty badly. People 'round here put a lot of stock in their land and the work they put into it. He had a really lovely home. It was such a shame…"

"Do you think he could talk…or would?" Hannibal asked, hoping to drag Anne back onto the correct conversational path.

"The police really couldn't prove anything – there was no evidence of arson, from what I can recall. Eve, do you remember anything about Tom Watkins' house burning down?"

"Yes, I recall." Eve sat down beside Murdock and sipped her coffee, ignoring Hannibal's searching look. "He swore up and down that somebody set the place on fire – that he heard something outside just before it started, but he didn't see anybody, and the police found no solid evidence. No gas, no matches, not even a footprint."

Victoria came squishing in from outside, a King Charles spaniel at her side and Alan trailing behind her. They were leaving wet footprints on the hardwood floor, which didn't appear to please Eve but it also didn't appear to be something that fazed her too much. He was carrying a brace of dead birds and looked cold and wet. He and his sister were both carrying rifles, and Hannibal looked surprised to see that Victoria was carrying her own brace of birds.

"Oh, look, Bubba and Vicks went grocery shopping!" Murdock said, standing up. "Dja milk the cow?"

Alan gave his brother a look to indicate he was not amused, but he smiled a greeting at Anne, with whom he had maintained a friendly relationship, even after he had learned of her relationship with his older brother. He had also done all he could to outgrow his childhood nickname of Bubba, which had been given to him by his baby sister, of course.

"Do you think Spencer might try to burn The Shallows down?" Anne asked again, still anxious.

"With B.A. there? I wouldn't light a cigarette in his presence," Hannibal said, grinning.

"You light cigars around him all the time," Murdock pointed out.

"That's different. That's…"

"Carcinogenic theatre?" Murdock queried, going around to examine the birds Alan had killed and counting six fat white-winged doves in his brace. Usually, Murdock wasn't much for killing doves, but those birds ate up crops, emptied out feeders, and crapped on everything in sight. He had few qualms about thinning out the flock. The little Inca doves he found rather cute and amusing, though, and too small to shoot anyway.

Hannibal started to answer but caught Eve's amused little smile as she sipped her coffee. She had gently berated him last night about his cigar smoking, and he had made sure to brush his teeth and use mouthwash before they had even sat down to start watching _Lolita_ (shortly after which the make-out session had started and finally led to her bedroom). Smith cleared his throat and caught Victoria looking at him, eyes narrowed just a bit. He managed a nervous smile. "As I was saying, Anne, I can't imagine Spencer Hawes' flunkies having enough nerve to cross B.A. Particularly after he's been chasing kittens all morning."

* * *

><p>Murdock was sitting in the passenger side of the car, waiting for Hannibal to release him into the wild. He wasn't dressed for the wild, though. He was wearing a sharp but relatively inexpensive business suit, a red tie and wingtips. It had been Hannibal this time who had selected his outfit, and fortunately the Colonel had more conservative tastes than Face, who would have gone for something involving a white Seersucker suit, a vest and a pocketwatch, and maybe even a fedora, so that he would end up looking like Colonel Sanders' demented nephew. Murdock didn't swing hats very well, aside from his Airborne Rangers gimme cap.<p>

"Okay, so this is how it's supposed to go," Hannibal said, looking right at Murdock and catching his gaze. That usually worked when it came time to get the pilot's full, undivided attention. Otherwise, it was like trying to herd cats.

"Yes, sir."

"You go in there, you tell Hawes that you're looking into making an investment in some land outside of town, but the owner is refusing to sell. You're wondering if he might be of _assistance_ to you in that regard."

"Right." Murdock chewed on his lip for a moment, then looked at the office building where Hawes' company was housed. "What if he asks me to go play golf? I can't play golf, Hannibal. Remember what happened last time I played golf?"

"Yes, I do, much to the detriment of my mental _stability_. That caddy is still in therapy and you only managed to liberate about, what, six _zillion_ golfballs? We were finding them everywhere for weeks – B.A. still digs some out of the van every now and then. You nearly gave me a stroke when you painted an eyeball on one and slipped it into my chicken noodle soup!" Hannibal glared at his ranking officer, remembering that jolt of fright three months ago, just as he had been preparing for a simple meal while watching _Cake Boss_. After Talk Like a Pirate Day, Murdock's favorite cause was The Golfball Liberation Front (GLF). The really scary thing, though, was that he had started an online petition for the cause…and had gotten over six thousand signatures so far.

"Well…the balls had fun, didn't they?" Murdock asked him, and Hannibal caught that mischievous glint in the captain's eye that made him wonder, not for the first time, if some part of his insanity was actually just a childlike love of creating havoc. He knew for a fact that a lot of his 'madness' was faked. Why he faked it, however, was a question that sometimes kept Hannibal up at night, because just when he had it figured out, Murdock would do something so bizarre or even on the edge of suicidal that made Hannibal have to toss aside all his theories. Captain James Murdock was a man who defied all definitions and could not be categorized. Hannibal and Face had both decided that entire flocks of psychologists were working on developing a headache pill for their own use, following any session with the free-spirited captain.

"Never mind," Hannibal said testily.

"Are you sleeping with Eve?" Murdock asked him, his voice deceptively calm.

Hannibal twitched and glared at Murdock, wishing to God that Face was here, but Face was back at the Murdock farmhouse, curled up in a ball and clutching a rather alarmed-looking black kitten.

"Um…ah…that's…er…classified…"

"So you are?" Murdock snapped.

"Hey, listen, she's not your biological mother, Murdock. Granted, she raised you and loved you as her own son, but if she _were_ your biological mother, she'd be in her sixties and I don't think I'd really be interested…but for all that, it's still none of your damned business, okay?"

Murdock huffed. "She's the mother of my brothers and sister, Hannibal. And she is my mother, too – she legally adopted me when I was eight!"

"And she's all of, what, twelve years your senior?" Hannibal grouched at him, wishing he had a cigar. Yeah, that'll help, he thought, catching Murdock's cold, level gaze.

"I just don't want her to get hurt. You're not known for hanging around, Hannibal."

"Oh? And what about you and Anne?"

Murdock frowned and looked down. "I don't know what to do about that, either. I did ten years ago. But now…well, we're on the run and she's not exactly fit for life on the underground."

Hannibal sighed. This argument was going to go nowhere, and there were other matters at hand to cope with. He pointed at the office building. "Get in there and run the scam, Murdock."

Humming the _1812 Overture_ under his breath, punctuated with the occasional 'boom' to imitate the cannons, Murdock got out the car, straightened his tied, checked himself in the mirror, and confidently strode inside. Hannibal made the sign of the cross, looked up at the heavens, and frankly didn't know what to ask God for. Finally, he settled for peace of mind and some more Tylenol.

* * *

><p>"Mr…Davis, was it?" Spencer Hawes said, gesturing for Murdock to sit down. The captain settled into the leather chair, and glanced over at the stuffed bobcat on the sideboard. He took a deep breath, hiding his distaste for animal trophies. He and everyone in his family only hunted for food, not to prove how well- hung they were.<p>

"Yes. Davis. I'm looking to buy some land outside of Courtville, but the owner is being a tad…recalcitrant." Murdock tacked on a thick, frightening Boston accent, broadening his vowels and dispensing with 'r's entirely. Pronouncing Courtville as 'Cawtville' was hard on him, particularly since his great-grandmother had been a Court and was no doubt currently spinning in her grave at such a dreadful Yankeeism.

"Hm. Well, that's too bad." Hawes sat back in his chair. He was wearing a very expensive-looking pinstriped suit, complete with vest and silk tie, but Murdock was taking in his surroundings. He saw a stack of bills on Hawes' desk, including one that clearly read 'Final Notice'. He noted an empty bottle of Jack Daniels in the trashcan, and Hawes' eyes were a little bloodshot. "So what are you wanting me to do about that?"

"Well…I had heard that you were good at applying the right amount of pressure on a property owner to get him to sell at rock-bottom prices."

"Hm." Hawes got up and went over to his wet bar and extracted another bottle of Jack from the cabinet. "Drink?"

"No thanks." Murdock remembered that he had taken his meds just two hours earlier. He never touched alcohol so soon after a dose.

Hawes shrugged and poured himself a glass. "Well, there are a few things that can be done." He threw back the shooter of whiskey and poured himself another before going back to his chair.

"Like what?" Murdock asked. "I really want that land – it's valuable, from what I've learned about it. I'm hoping to settle down here." Oh, God, why did I pick Boston? There was only one other stronger form of birth control that he knew of, aside from a Boston accent: a _Brooklyn_ accent. He had to beat back a shudder. Should have gone for Pittsburgh or at least Eastern Kentucky…

"And leave Boston? For this little part of flyover country?" Hawes snickered. Hawes burped a little and tossed back another finger of whiskey.

"I'm hoping to learn how to speak English properly," Murdock smiled.

* * *

><p>"So how was the date?" Lily asked, giving a cold eye to a Beagle that was coming too close to the clothesline behind Charlie and Marie's house. The dog snuffled a few times and wandered away.<p>

"It went well. We had a nice supper at a restaurant by the bay and walked on the boardwalk at Kima and then we walked on the beach and…um…fell asleep."

"Take out, make out, pass out?" Lily grinned.

"Minus Letterman," Anne nodded. They were hanging out the laundry, enjoying the warmish, sunny day. A nice breeze was blowing in from the south and the sky was a rich, clear autumn blue. The weather was becoming crisp, with cold nights and only vaguely humid days. It was Anne's kind of weather, actually. Her creative juices flowed best in the fall, and she had been at her drawing board all morning, coming up with new designs and color combinations. Green was figuring strongly in almost everything she had come up with so far. The exact shade of James's eyes, actually. She felt a rill of excitement go up her spine and she went over her plans for tonight again. She would have to slip into the Murdock house unnoticed, first of all, and get up to James's room…

"No…er…heightened activity?"

"You mean did we have sex? No, Lily, we didn't." Anne watched a blue jay fly over to the end of the clothesline and perch, scolding them as they worked. "But I have every intention of my present status being changed dramatically by tomorrow morning."

* * *

><p>Face was sleeping soundly, a rather goofy smile on his face, when B.A. went in to check on him, with Eve behind him. She was bearing a tray with some nourishing soup, a big chunk of homemade bread spread with sweet butter, and a big glass of milk. "Lieutenant Peck?" she said, putting the tray on the chair. Face's kitten woke and stretched, yawning so widely its jaw make a tiny cracking sound, and B.A. put his hand over his nose, glaring at the innocent-looking animal.<p>

"Yo, Faceman! Wake up, dude!" B.A. snapped, shaking the XO and causing him to jerk awake and stare up at them, wide-eyed, before falling back against the pillow and snatching up the kitten before it could escape. He stared up at B.A., at first seeming to not recognize him, and then a beatific smile spread across his face and he reached out to touch B.A.'s arm.

"Don Fernando has many cattle," the Lieutenant informed B.A., with the grave seriousness reserved only for drunks and the severely sleep-deprived.

"Does he now?" B.A. asked, at a loss, looking at Eve, who shrugged.

Face nodded. "Senor Padrillo is leading the raid tonight!" he said happily. "I'm ridin' point! He's letting me ride the big pinto!"

"Great, Face. That's good to hear," B.A. said wearily.

"Good grief, I've never seen somebody go so totally loony just because of a lack of sleep," Eve said, pressing her hand to Face's forehead. No fever, at least. Just temporary looniness.

"He does this a lot. He'll go days without sleep, doin' some kinda scam or recon or whatever, and then he's climbin' up on ships' masts and dancing a rumba with a teddy bear before we finally talk him down and take the teddy bear away and tie him to a mattress for a few days. Funny thing, Murdock's the one who manages to talk sense into him – ain't that weird? But this is nothin'. You should see Murdock whenever McDonald's starts putting new toys in the Happy Meals. Last year, it was _Penguins of Madagascar_. Drove me nuts with that stupid Skipper toy…you move, and Skipper'd make this whirly noise. I finally hid it…but Murdock looked so miserable I gave it back to him. He does that puppydog eyes thing…" He shrugged.

Eve only smiled. "Yes, I know all that about. I never could stay angry at him, when he was a little boy, even after he had done something bad. Which was pretty rare, actually. He was always a sweet boy. Not a drop of malice in him at any time. You should try and develop a bit more patience, Bosco. And maybe a little bit more…_stamina_. James seems to recognize which buttons to push with you and acts accordingly. He's like any imaginative little kid – not mean-spirited by any means, but always eager for entertainment, and let's face it, you seem to entertain him a great deal."

"Like a blue jay. Lookin' for fun and gettin' into trouble instead."

"If you played along, he wouldn't know what to do," Eve pointed out. Face had suddenly came back around and was sitting up, happily eating his soup and petting the kitten, which had given up on its latest escape scheme and was curled up, purring, on his lap. He was paying no heed to their conversation. In fact, he seemed to still be in his own world, apparently still thinking about Don Fernando's cattle and the raid he was going on tonight with Senor Padrillo.

"Eh?" B.A. glanced at her, eyes wary. "You mean, like, sing opera at three in the morning, or declare war on rutabagas, or insist that my socks are talking to me?"

"He does that?"

"He does _everything_."

* * *

><p>Murdock was bouncing in the passenger seat, excited at having gone through the preliminary run without any kind of a hitch. He was more accustomed to hitches. These plans, however, had gone rather well so far. Hawes was interested in helping him with the reluctant land owner, and now all he had to do was forge a few signatures – Murdock was actually better at forging than Face – and line up the 'land owner' once he had had enough sleep and was no longer obsessed with kittens, and soon the second act of the scam would be rolling.<p>

"How'd it go?" Hannibal asked.

"It went so well I nearly peed myself!" Murdock crowed, in a disturbing Boston accent.

"Exactly," Hannibal muttered, and started the car.


End file.
